Cut to the Bone (37 page)

‘I have no idea what you’re saying,’ said Byrne.

‘Or did it happen like this? Ruby was about to go public, and risk two billion dollars for your darling father . . . You know, the dick that abandoned you?’

Zain felt the cold, dark pain inside him start to leak out. A pain he wanted to inflict on others. On Byrne.

‘And so what did you do? Always after his approval, so you hired a hitman, didn’t you? Or got your little Rottweiler Bill Anderson to hire one. And while Ruby was being tortured and murdered, you were erasing your tracks. Only you didn’t do it thoroughly enough. You didn’t delete the data enough times. And I found it.’

‘You’re mental, mate, and you need to get out of my flat.’

‘I’m not done yet, not at all. You see, I don’t give a flying fuck about procedure and law and the proper way of doing things. I believe in justice. Three million people have died in that hellhole, because of people like you. And I think you think your money will protect you.’

Zain grinned, but his eyes were dead; he knew.

‘Well, guess what, Jed, nothing will save you tonight.’

Chapter One Hundred and Three

Kate tried the door to the MINDNET offices, but they were locked. No security inside. That was odd; they must trust their automated systems. She tried the phone again, and this time it was picked up.

‘This is Detective Chief Inspector Kate Riley. I’m outside, can you please let me in?’

Bill Anderson walked through the darkened lobby and unlocked the doors for her. He must have disabled the alarms before he got there.

‘I need your help, Mr Anderson,’ she said, standing in the lobby to MINDNET with him. ‘I need to speak to Jed Byrne. It’s urgent. I think he might be in some danger.’

‘What’s this about?’ said Anderson, already walking quickly away from her.

‘I just need to see him, for his own safety,’ she said.

Anderson led her through the foyer, past the lifts, through what Kate had thought was a wall. It was a door covered with the same panelling as the rest of the wall, which in turn led to another lift.

This lift was small; only the two of them could really fit inside. It smelled new, but she could smell Anderson, too. It was an earthy scent. Clean, but not artificial.

The lift opened onto a door with Flat 1 in gold on it. Anderson raised his hand to knock. He stopped when they heard shouting. It was Zain.

‘Can you open it?’ she said.

Anderson took keys from his pocket and, finding the right one, turned the two locks quietly. They walked in, just as Zain’s voice was reaching levels Kate had heard once before, in Barry the drug dealer’s flat.

They opened the lounge door and found Zain with his hands reaching for Byrne’s throat.

Zain turned to look at them, and stopped in mid-movement.

Anderson ran to put himself between Zain and Byrne, and pushed the former away. Zain stepped back, then rallied to go for Anderson. Kate grabbed his arm and spun him around.

‘No,’ she said, as though admonishing a child or a pet. ‘That’s enough.’

Zain sneered at her, but left the room.

‘I apologise, Mr Byrne,’ she said. She caught sight of the papers on Byrne’s table, recognising them from the electronic versions she had seen earlier. ‘I’m sure, though, that it’s in both our interests not to pursue this. Shall we just pretend this never happened?’

‘We don’t tolerate people making threats to us,’ said Anderson.

‘Neither do I,’ said Kate.

Stevie parked up outside James Fogg’s house in Goodmayes.

She had interviewed Ruby’s friends and family again, trying to pick apart and discover something new. Nothing had come of it.

Ruby’s parents had been the most chilling. They were defeated, immobile. Nothing seemed to be left of life in them. They explained about Ruby paying the mortgage on the flat, about them having to leave it. They focused on that, the loss of their home. Because focusing on the loss of their daughter was too much.

‘You don’t know what I went through to have her,’ Laura Day had said. ‘It makes losing her so much worse.’

What could you say to that? Fuck all.

Stevie had covered most of the friends living in London, but James Fogg hadn’t responded to her calls, so she decided to visit him. He had known Ruby more intimately than anyone else; he might have some random bit of information that might crack this.

Truth was, they’d exhausted everything else.

The house looked empty, with no lights on. No cars parked outside it. Stevie tried the doorbell first, then the letterbox. She sensed someone watching her from across the road. Curious neighbours? Did it count as curtain twitching if it was done with blinds?

Eventually, a light went on inside, and the door was opened by a young woman. She was rubbing her eyes, yawning. She was wearing a dressing gown, her feet bare.

‘Who are you?’ said the woman.

The way she said it, though. She seemed to be alert, suspicious. Looking Stevie over. There was nothing about Stevie that said police officer. She was dressed in black jeans, a hooded top, and a midi jacket.

‘Detective Sergeant Stevie Brennan. Sorry I woke you. Is Mr Fogg at home?’

‘No, he’s away,’ said the girl. ‘We spoke before, didn’t we? I’m Rachel, his partner.’

‘Yes, I remember. Do you know where he is?’

‘Family emergency. He had to go.’

‘When will he be back?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘Where is his family?’

Hesitation. Rachel was thinking. Her sleepy head churning, calculating. Just a fraction, but enough.

‘Not sure. Plymouth, I think,’ she said.

‘You’ve never met them?’

‘No. They’re not close.’

‘What’s the family emergency?’ Stevie asked.

Again, a moment of hesitation. A lie being formulated?

‘His grandfather is ill, I think,’ said Rachel.

‘Do you mind if I come in and speak to you?’

‘About what?’

‘Ruby.’

‘I didn’t know her,’ said Rachel. Her voice grew cold. Jealousy at the ex-girlfriend?

‘It won’t take long. Plus, I’m dying for a piss.’

Stevie pushed past Rachel before she could object, her instincts screaming at her.

Chapter One Hundred and Four

They were in Zain’s lounge. Kate was on the sofa, perched on the edge. She wasn’t staying, wasn’t interested in her comfort.

He stood in the doorway, looking down at her. She met his gaze hard, no flinching or insecurity. The random thought came again that she was stunning.

‘What happened?’ she said.

At least she was giving him a chance. Wasn’t going to convict without a trial.

‘You know what. The bastards got away with it. They used their money and their friends, and they fucking well killed a girl and got away with it. It makes me so angry, and makes me sick. Sometimes, I think this whole country is stitched up. Politicians, business, the media . . . they’re all shagging each other, and no one stands a chance.’

‘You make it sound so easy, so black and white,’ she said. ‘It’s so much more complex.’

‘Are you defending them?’

‘No. Do you think Justin Hope is a bad person? Or is he just in a difficult, compromised position?’

He’s a dick, thought Zain.

‘I don’t think I care anymore,’ he said.

‘You trusted him enough to do his dirty work, not so long ago. You must have had an instinct about him.’

He was ashamed of that now. He’d been desperate, though. Thought non-compliance would mean losing his job. The job that he hoped would rehabilitate him, get him back to Cross and his team.

‘You want something to drink?’ he said.

She shook her head, got up, ready to leave.

‘Where does this leave me?’ he said.

‘If Jed Byrne brings charges, we can deal with it then.’

‘As long as I take the fall?’

‘I’m not clairvoyant. I don’t predict how things will work out. I live in the moment.’

‘That’s what I was doing. I was frustrated, and I wanted him to confess to it. I thought, no, this is bullshit, I am not letting them do this. And I was going to make him say it, tell me what they did.’

‘Has that ever worked?’

It worked on me, thought Zain. When the pain got extreme, so bad it was in that zone before death. What he said, he couldn’t remember. But he hadn’t stayed quiet. When his captives tortured him, when they were about to cut his head off. He told them everything he knew. There were no heroics then; there was no bravery. He was shit scared he was about to die.

‘What you did was illegal and unprofessional,’ she said. ‘Understandable, yet wrong. And what worries me is that I don’t think you truly accept that.’

She stopped at the door. ‘My father, he was like Harry Cain. He was a man in a position of power. And he destroyed everyone around him. My mother, me. And in the end, I didn’t take shortcuts. I brought him down, the right way.’

‘Is that why you’re really here? Thousands of miles away?’ Zain countered.

‘The right way isn’t the easy way. Usually it’s the toughest road to take, and that’s why so many don’t. They lack the strength and the courage.’

He stared after her, feeling as though she had just kicked him in the balls.

Chapter One Hundred and Five

Rachel was making Stevie some coffee, while Stevie was pretending to use the bathroom. She listened to the woman moving about, filling the kettle, letting it boil. Preparing cups, the fridge door opening for milk.

She didn’t have long, maybe a minute. And her gut was on fire; something did not fit. It was the way the girl had obviously lied about, or not been sure of, where James was. And more than that, the way Rachel looked.

Stevie had spent so long in the company of Ruby’s friends that she understood some things now. And she could see the rawness, the naivety, around Rachel. It was unsettling, and a thought was creeping into her. One that made her sick.

Images then flashed into her head. Ruby’s launch, the video in which James had been more interested in playing a walrus than congratulating his girlfriend.

Walking up the stairs to use the bathroom, she had to calculate. Where would she find what she needed?

The bedroom was the obvious place. She scanned the room, opened dresser drawers. Then checked the wardrobe. She found a briefcase, but it was locked. She didn’t have time to break the seals.

A second, smaller room. A study, a computer with multiple screens, hard drives. Why did people need intelligence-agency-level equipment in their homes? A bookcase with textbooks stood against one of the walls. And on the floor, she thought she might have found what she needed.

It was a satchel, light brown. Stevie tipped it out, letting the debris of paper, pens, make-up spill out around her. She put her hands inside, checked the front pockets, and there she felt it. A purse, small, functional.

Stevie flicked it open, and stared. She was right. She was fucking well right. She took out her phone, texted Riley.

Rachel had made their drinks, the smell of hot coffee hitting Stevie as she walked down the stairs. She sat down, and gulped the coffee back, burning her tongue and the top of her mouth. She welcomed the caffeine.

‘Thank you,’ she said, when she felt some form of control. She felt the thrill, tense but also aware of what this moment might lead to. ‘How long have you and James been together?’ she asked.

‘A year maybe,’ said Rachel. ‘Just over a year.’

‘When he broke up with Ruby?’

‘Yes. We met soon afterwards.’

‘Is he a good boyfriend?’ Stevie asked.

‘Yes. The best. Why?’

‘I’m just making small talk. Did you know Ruby well?’

‘Never met her. I knew her. Saw her videos online, and I was curious when I started dating James. I didn’t know her, though,’ Rachel said.

‘What did you think? From what you saw?’

‘She was a nice girl. I don’t like her, though, for hurting James. She broke his heart. And for what? Daniel Grant? She made a mistake.’

‘You said you’re at university?’

‘Yes. First year.’

Stevie considered how to approach what she had to say next. In the end, she went with Stevie style: straight up and to the point.

‘You must have been clever. Getting into university early.’ she said.

Rachel froze, then looked up to the ceiling, then back to Stevie. She was calculating. Stevie saw her weigh the filled cup in her hand. Barefoot, in a dressing robe, she was still thinking of running. She breathed heavily, her words slow when they left her mouth.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said.

‘I saw your driver’s licence,’ said Stevie. ‘Your provisional licence. It says you turned sixteen just over seven months ago.’

‘What were you doing going through my stuff?’

‘So if you started university at sixteen, you must be clever.’

Rachel was silent, still. On conflict management courses, they always said that was the time to be really worried. Intense staring; no communication. Stevie put her drink down.

‘Rachel, how old were you when you met James?’

No response, but Rachel started shaking. Stevie took the cup from her hands.

‘I think I know what happened, and I think you aren’t to blame. Let me help you. Where are your parents?’

Rachel stared into Stevie’s eyes. They were black, melting, angry.

Stevie barely had time to react as Rachel reached under a cushion next to her and pulled out a kitchen knife. She stabbed Stevie, pain exploding in her chest.

‘You fucking bitch, you’ve ruined everything,’ screamed Rachel.

She was on top of Stevie, who pushed her backwards, trying to grasp her wrists, all the while feeling the pain in her chest and the blood soaking her. Rachel spat in her face and drove the knife towards Stevie’s eyes.

Stevie turned her face away, while using all her strength to control the knife hand, but Rachel was pushing as hard as she could. The knife cut Stevie’s cheek, and started to move towards the side of her eye.

Stevie felt her own anger build then. She was not going to let this be the way it ended; she would not let herself be damaged like this. Stevie heaved her body upwards, felt Rachel give way, and twisted the hand holding the knife until it was facing away from her. Rachel was like an animal, hissing, spitting, and trying to bite her. Stevie let go of Rachel’s left wrist, which led Rachel to try and gouge her eyes out.