Little Boy Blue: DI Helen Grace 5 (A DI Helen Grace Thriller) (16 page)

Charlie stared at the unshaven lump opposite her, trying to hide her distaste as he crammed a dripping fried egg sandwich into his mouth. Chewing noisily, the middle-aged cabbie eventually looked up, catching her gaze.

‘You having something?’ he asked.

‘I’ve already eaten,’ Charlie replied, lying. She was trying to lose a bit of weight and the fare at the transport café didn’t fit the bill.

‘Suit yourself,’ the cabbie replied, taking a noisy slurp of his coffee, before popping a chipolata in his mouth. Charlie was paying for his breakfast this morning and he was clearly going to get the most out of her generosity.

‘You spoke to one of my colleagues yesterday?’

The cabbie nodded.

‘You told her you were working on Tuesday night?’

‘I work every night, love. Don’t have a choice.’

Charlie smiled sympathetically.

‘And you had an unusual pick-up between the hours of midnight and one a.m.’

The cabbie shrugged. ‘You get all sorts doing a night shift. But this one was a bit odd.’

‘Odd how?’

‘Well, it was a bloke for a start. I thought she … he was a bird at first. Long legs, long hair, nice clothes and that. But the voice was too low and he had an Adam’s apple, so …’

‘So what specifically was odd?’

‘You mean apart from that?’ the cabbie replied, laughing.

‘Come on, there are lots of gay pubs and cabaret bars in that area. You must see stuff like that all the time.’

‘It was more the state of him,’ he conceded.

‘Go on.’

‘I could hardly understand where he wanted to go at first. He was white as a sheet and he’d been crying. He was trying to suck it in, but his make-up was a horrible mess,’ he laughed again. ‘I wasn’t going to let him in, but he gave me a twenty up front, so …’

‘Where did you take him?’

‘To an address in St Denys – Newton Street. Only cost a tenner, but he didn’t care. Got straight out of the cab when we got there and didn’t look back. You ask me, he was about to puke. I don’t know what they take in these places but –’

‘Can you describe him to me?’

The cabbie paused, then said:

‘Tall, like I said. Thin, very thin. He was dressed in a kind of cat suit, so you could see there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. Hairless too – no stubble or anything.’

‘Can you describe his face to me?’

‘Dark eyes, no eyebrows except what was drawn on –’

‘Anything on the sides of his face?’

‘Yeah, now you mention it, he had a little scar on the right side of his face. Make-up couldn’t hide that.’

Charlie nodded, then pulled a photo from the file on her lap.

‘Was this the person you picked up on Tuesday night?’ she asked, offering the cabbie the photo. He took it between his greasy fingers, then after a moment’s consideration handed it back.

‘Yeah, that’s him.’

Charlie took the photo and, having confirmed the address of the drop-off, thanked the cabbie and hurried on her way. Finally they had something to work with.

Her cabbie had just placed Samantha near the scene of the first murder.

‘Thank you for seeing me straight away,’ Helen said, her confident tone failing to conceal her anxiety.

‘My door is always open,’ Gardam assured her calmly. ‘How bad is it?’

‘Bad. He’s definitely our second victim.’

‘How can you be sure?’

‘The MO is slightly different, but the victim was made to suffer as much as is humanly possible and it was a highly “professional” execution. This was a statement killing, just like Elder’s.’

Gardam took this in – he looked as sick as Helen felt. Then he said:

‘So the flat is owned by this Max Paine? How sure are we that he’s our victim?’

‘One hundred per cent.’

‘Right,’ Gardam replied. ‘I thought we were still trying to contact his next of kin –’

‘We are, but I know him. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’

‘I see. Have you come across him in a case before, or … ?’

The ‘or’ was left hanging and Helen knew she had to fill the gap. If she didn’t say it now she would lose the confidence to do so.

‘This is very difficult for me to say … but it would be unprofessional of me not to do so,’ Helen said, just about getting the words out.

Gardam said nothing. He was watching her intently, which only made it worse.

‘I know Max Paine, in fact I know both victims, because I’ve used their services.’

Gardam’s face didn’t move at all, but Helen could tell he was shocked by what she’d just told him.

‘I used Paine’s services twice, about a year ago. Before that I used to visit Jake Elder on and off, but I haven’t seen him in over two years.’

This wasn’t the whole truth. Helen had decided to omit the beating she’d given Paine – this was difficult enough without admitting to a criminal act.

‘Right. I see,’ Gardam finally responded, not quite finding the words.

‘I don’t really want to go into the details,’ Helen continued. ‘But I thought you ought to know.’

‘And you didn’t think this was worth telling me after Elder’s death?’

‘No, I didn’t,’ Helen replied firmly. ‘I hadn’t seen him in ages and couldn’t add anything useful to the investigation by doing so. But now that a second man known to me … well, I wanted to be upfront with you and offer to remove myself from the case – if that’s what you’d like.’

Helen had debated long and hard whether to offer this up, but she knew she was duty-bound to. It was the only thing she could do, given the circumstances.

There was a long silence. As Gardam processed his response, Helen examined his face for signs of an instinctive reaction. What was he thinking? Had she irreparably damaged herself in his eyes?

‘Thank you for sharing this, Helen,’ Gardam finally replied. ‘This can’t have been an easy thing to bring up.’

‘It wasn’t, believe me.’

‘Can I ask if anybody else knows of your connection to the victims?’

Helen paused, then, closing her eyes, bit the bullet.

‘Emilia Garanita knows about my connection to Jake Elder.’

‘Bloody hell.’

‘But she obtained this knowledge illegally and if she’s smart she’ll keep quiet. She knows nothing of my connection to Paine.’

Helen could have said more but didn’t. In reality it was highly unlikely she’d be able to stop Emilia with the threat of prosecution – the original offence having been so long ago – but she had to play any card she could with Gardam in order to try and stay on the case.

Gardam pondered his response. Impatient, Helen now blurted out:

‘Look, if this is awkward, I can obviously take sick leave. I don’t want to, but if you feel it would be for the best, then obviously it’s something we should consid—’

‘Well, let’s review what we’ve got,’ Gardam interrupted. ‘You knew both victims and have a personal connection to the case. Were you in a relationship with either of them?’

‘No. Of course not. I liked Jake as a human being, but that’s it. Paine meant nothing to me.’

‘Right.’

What was that in his tone? Was it pity?

‘And do you think you’ll be able to discharge your duties in this investigation as normal?’ Gardam continued.

‘Definitely.’

‘You’re not
too
invested in it?’

‘I don’t think so. I’d tell you if I was.’

‘And how sure are we that Garanita will keep shtum?’

‘Fairly, though there’s no guarantee of course,’ Helen lied quickly.

Gardam looked at her, his mind turning. Helen was suddenly aware she was holding her breath and exhaled gently, trying to calm herself.

‘Well, it’s not an easy decision. But … I’m minded to keep things as they are for now,’ Gardam said decisively. ‘These deaths are alarming and I need my best people on it.’

Helen nodded, more relieved than she could say. She was embarrassed to feel tears pricking her eyes.

‘And don’t worry, Helen,’ Gardam reassured her. ‘This will remain between us.’

Helen thanked him and went on her way, keeping her eyes to the floor. Outside in the corridor, she leant against the wall and brushed the offending tears away. Odd though it was, she almost felt happy. It had been a tough conversation to have to have, but she was pleased she’d grasped the nettle. It had cost her something to
take Gardam into her confidence – to reveal her weakness to him – but she now felt free to drive the investigation forward. Marching towards the incident room, Helen pulled her mobile out and dialled Meredith’s number. There could be no more delays, no more setbacks now. Jake Elder and Max Paine deserved justice and Helen was determined to see that they got it.

Charlie drained the dregs of her coffee and tossed the paper cup in the bin. Would it be bad to have another one straight away? She was tired, but more than that she was cold, despite the autumnal sunshine. She had been pacing Newton Street for over an hour now and had little to show for it, except a mild headache and blocks of ice for feet.

Her cabbie was certain that he’d dropped his ride off near the top of the road. There were several blocks of flats there, but a little basic detective work in the shops and cafés had established that Samantha had been seen coming out of Ellesmere Heights on occasion. It was a fairly sorry-looking set-up and no one was answering the buzzers, despite Charlie having pressed them all several times. There had been nothing to do but watch and wait, so she’d parked herself on a bench outside the launderette with a coffee and a free sheet, arming herself with a puffed-out but empty laundry bag by way of cover. She seemed to spend most of her life on surveillance these days and she hungered for something a bit more challenging. The numerous lattes she was consuming were doing nothing for her waistline.

As the minutes, then hours, ticked by, Charlie’s decision to keep this lead to herself began to trouble her. It
was quite probable she was wasting her time and, besides, Helen had reiterated the importance of everyone sharing information from now on. But still … every lead Charlie had pursued so far had proved fruitless. Paul Jackson was a disaster and they were still trying to locate David Simons, though in truth no one genuinely thought he was a suspect. Which just left Michael Parker, aka Samantha. Charlie knew why she was keeping this lead to herself, and she knew it didn’t reflect well on her, but still she sat here, ignoring the occasional buzz of her phone, intent on seeing it through.

How much longer could she stay? She would have to account for her time eventually and the longer she left it, the harder it would be to explain away. She was already in Helen’s bad books, so why risk their friendship further by escalating her war with Sanderson? When all she might end up with for her pains was a stinking cold?

She rose to head back to the coffee shop and almost walked straight into Samantha. It took a moment for her to compute who it was – Charlie was busy apologizing for getting in her way when her gaze was drawn to the bloodshot eyes and the faint scarring on her right cheek. Samantha hurried on, and Charlie, realizing her mistake, flung her newspaper into her laundry bag and walked swiftly in the same direction.

Normally she would have waited longer, but Samantha seemed so determined to make it home that she was fearful of losing her. Samantha hurried up to Ellesmere Heights and pushed roughly inside, her gait unsteady and stumbling. The heavy door swung back on its
hinges, then began its inexorable progress back to a closed position. Charlie jettisoned her fake laundry bag and ran. If she didn’t apprehend Samantha now she would have to hand over her lead and take the consequences – and she was damned if she was going to do that. The gap was only inches wide, but Charlie shoved her foot into it, wincing slightly as the door pinched hard. But her intervention had been subtle and silent – she could hear Samantha stumbling up the stairs above, seemingly oblivious to her intrusion, so easing the door open again, Charlie slipped inside.

‘I have a name for you.’

Helen was now standing in front of the team. A new case file in hand, she was determined not to waste any time.

‘His landlord has identified the victim as Maxwell Carter, more commonly known by his professional name of Max Paine. He was a dominator who worked from his flat, so obviously one of our first lines of enquiry is whether he was meeting a client last night. There were no papers or diaries at the scene, so DC Reid, could you liaise with uniform on the house-to-house enquiries – see if we have any witnesses to activity at the flats last night. We’ll also need to interrogate his digital footprint – did he run websites, was he on Twitter, Tinder? There were no devices in his flat, but we did find chargers for an iPhone 5 and a tablet, so check if he backed up at all and if so where to. Fast-track any warrants – we need to know who he was communicating with in the last few days of his life. McAndrew, can you take the lead on this?’

‘On it,’ McAndrew replied, rising and hurrying off.

‘Max Paine is a local boy,’ Helen continued, ‘with one marriage behind him and a son, Thomas, aged six. He divorced three years ago – his wife Dinah now lives in
Portswood with their little boy. I will talk to them once we’re done here. For now, let’s focus on the facts. As with the Jake Elder murder, the killer has been very cautious, very precise. We won’t have Jim Grieves’s findings for a few hours, but so far Meredith has found no DNA evidence of our perpetrator within the flat.’

The way Helen said the word ‘within’ made a few of the team look up. Clearly she was building up to something.

‘However, she has just confirmed to me that her team have found a partial footprint in the corridor leading away from the flat. The lino on the floor had been cleaned recently and we’ve got the faint outline of a size 6 boot. It was raining last night, the ground outside the flats was soft and dirty, so –’

‘Does that suggest his visitor was a woman?’ DC Edwards asked.

‘Or a man with small feet. We’ve got an impression of the tread – which is ridged and in waved grip lines – DC Lucas, can you keep on forensics until we have a match?’

‘Will do.’

Helen handed out the rest of the duties to the team – witness statements, Munch follow-ups, financial investigation, family histories – before calling time on the meeting. It felt good to be leading again, but even now something nagged away at her. She had asked for the whole team to attend the briefing – to push forward together on the new leads – but one officer was notably absent. Which left her wondering:

Where the hell was Charlie?