The Informant (26 page)

Natalie turned her head away. Her eyes were brimming with tears. ‘You don’t understand. There ain’t anyone or anything can help me.’

Nicci joined her daughter. ‘It may feel like that now. But there’s always a way out Natalie. And there’s a way out for you. You just have to look around until you find
it.’

It was the last day of the summer school, classes were winding up in preparation for the return of the real, full-time students in October. Mal Bradley had dipped in and out,
having discovered that others in the class had work and family commitments that forced them to do the same. He’d seen Karen Phelps there a few times, but she’d ignored him completely
and spurned all his attempts at mateyness. The only reason he’d kept going was to put off the moment when he would have to tell Turnbull that he was getting nowhere.

He’d offered to accompany Nicci Armstrong to Yorkshire again. Her plan to befriend Natalie Phelps was progressing at a snail’s pace. The notion she’d ever make a credible
witness against her brother struck him as far-fetched. However Nicci was a dog with a bone, it was how she operated. She was making the drive once, sometimes twice a week, and insisted on going
alone so as not to freak Natalie out. On top of a regular workload, that struck Bradley as ridiculous. Still he found some consolation in the fact he wasn’t the only one on a hiding to
nothing.

For the final life drawing class Mike Dawson had invited all the students to pin up their drawings to create a small exhibition. The atmosphere was celebratory. On a table in the middle of the
studio Mike had provided several bottles of cheap plonk and some bags of crisps. The students had added their own contributions and soon the table was piled high with cans of beer, Jaffa Cakes,
biscuits, one student had even baked a cake.

Mike led the class, glasses in hand, on a tour of the room, viewing and commenting on the work and progress of each individual student in turn. As the group gathered round Bradley’s patch
of wall, he noticed Karen Phelps watching him from the back of the huddle. Mike Dawson peered at the drawings intently, then cleared his throat.

‘Well, Mal started out as a complete beginner, am I right?’

Bradley nodded. He felt the question was slightly redundant. Anyone could see that he drew like a seven-year-old.

Mike nodded thoughtfully. ‘But what we see here is definite progress. A more confident line developing and more accurate observation. A sense of the essence of the figure is definitely
emerging. Anyone care to add anything?’

A woman at the front of the group, who’d taken a shine to Bradley, raised her hand tentatively like a schoolgirl. ‘I think what Mal’s done is lovely. It’s full of
feeling.’

Bradley gave her a small nod. He placed her on the wrong side of forty and the far side of desperate. There was no way he wanted to give her the least encouragement. He caught Kaz’s eye,
she was watching his discomfort with amusement.

She glanced in Dawson’s direction. ‘Yeah, I got a comment Mike. That one at the top there looks a bit like one of them photo-fit pictures. Y’know, the kind the police
make.’

Heads in the group swivelled from Kaz back to the wall and the drawing in question. Mike narrowed his eyes and scrutinized it intently, then he turned to Bradley.

‘What d’you make of that Mal? You a secret fan of
Crimewatch
? D’you think there might be an influence here?’

Bradley pondered. ‘It’s possible. I do read a lot of crime novels, especially about gangsters and psychopaths.’

Mike chuckled. ‘Ummm what you’ve done with the eyes – they do look a bit manic. D’you think Leo’s got the look of a psychopath about him?’

A ripple of laughter went round the group. Bradley shot a challenging look at Kaz. ‘Problem with psychopaths Mike, is that they look just like you or me. They fool us by seeming to be
ordinary.’

Mike Dawson nodded sagely, then ushered the group on to the next student.

Bradley brought up the rear and positioned himself next to Kaz. She gave him a sideways glance.

‘Don’t know why you didn’t ’fess up to being a copper. They’d probably love you even more. ’Specially your number one fan over there.’

Bradley adopted a stage whisper. ‘Cougars – definitely not my style. Anyway as we both know, I’m supposed to be undercover.’

‘You still trying to persuade me what a friendly, funny bloke you are?’

Bradley sighed. ‘No I’ve accepted I’m crap at that.’

Kaz eyed him speculatively. ‘Maybe not totally. Once this is over, fancy buying me a cup of coffee?’

Bradley stared at her in disbelief. His brain was scrambling to catch up. Had he missed something? Was she being serious? He didn’t have to paint on the smile, it surfaced naturally.

‘Yeah. Of course.’

Kaz nodded. ‘Shut your mouth Bradley. You look like a teenage boy who’s copped off for the first time.’

Bradley bought two take-away coffees and they wandered into Russell Square. There was a smattering of people and pigeons all enjoying the afternoon sunshine. They found an
empty bench and sat down a decorous foot apart. Bradley wasn’t sure what had caused Kaz Phelps to perform such a volte-face. But he decided to play along with her and see how things panned
out.

Back in the studio Kaz had been the last one to have her work reviewed by Mike and the group. Everyone had just stood round and gawped. It didn’t require much expertise to see that she was
streets ahead of any other student in the class. The compliments flooded in. Kaz received them awkwardly. She wasn’t used to praise, certainly not in a setting like this.

Mike Dawson scanned the dozen or so drawings Kaz had displayed and rubbed the stubble on his chin. Then when the rest of the students dispersed to chat and drink the wine and beer he strolled
over to her. He pulled a rather dog-eared business card from his back pocket and fixed her with his direct and penetrating gaze.

‘You still got a lot to learn, you know that, don’t you?’ Kaz nodded. ‘But you’ve got a rare talent.’ He handed her the card. ‘Keep in touch. If I can
do anything to help you on your way, I will.’ And with a curt nod he went off to pour himself a glass of wine.

Bradley sipped his coffee and glanced at Kaz.

‘So what did Mike say to you at the end?’

‘Nothing much.’ Kaz lounged on the bench.

Bradley laughed. ‘Bullshit. I may be crap at drawing, but I’m quite a good detective and that man thinks you’re the dog’s bollocks. The way he looked at your stuff was
totally different to how he looked at anyone else’s.’

‘Yeah well you don’t have to keep buttering me up, because I’ve decided to help the police.’

Bradley gave her a scrutinising look. ‘Okay. What’s brought this on?’

‘I dunno. Maybe I do want my life to be different.’

He nodded. ‘Have you and Joey fallen out?’

Kaz took a deep breath. ‘What I’m offering you doesn’t concern Joey. This is about my cousin Sean Phelps.’

Bradley tilted back his head and smiled. Now it all made sense. ‘I see. You want to give us Sean. Not Joey.’

‘Basically yeah.’

He began to chuckle. ‘I know you think we’re all plods, especially me. But come on Karen, we’re not totally daft.’

Kaz gave him a blank, cold stare. ‘I dunno what you mean.’

Bradley shook his head, but he was still smiling. ‘Okay, let’s try this for size. Sean gets out of jail. He’s been away for a goodly stretch, meanwhile your dad’s had a
stroke and Joey’s taken over the firm. But Joey’s young and ambitious, he’s not about to step aside for Sean. So you and your brother have cooked up a neat little scheme to send
Sean straight back to jail. Am I warm?’

Kaz looked straight at Bradley. The cheeky smile had been packed away, his expression was deadly serious. She acknowledged his point with a tilt of the head. ‘Yeah. But that’s only
part of the story.’

‘Okay, I’m listening.’

She sipped her coffee, then turned to Bradley. ‘Y’know Sean shot a copper and got off.’

‘I’ve heard that, yeah.’

‘Well it’s true. When it happened, years ago, I heard him boasting to my old man about it.’

‘And you’re gonna get up in court now and say that?’

Kaz inclined her head to one side. ‘No, you’re gonna need more than one bit of testimony to get Sean tried for that murder.’

Bradley sighed. ‘So what are you offering?’

‘We both know that by rights Sean should still be in jail. He’s a murderer.’

‘So’s Joey.’

Kaz inhaled sharply as she tried to keep a handle on her exasperation. ‘I’m not gonna give you Joey. You can have Sean or nothing – that’s the choice. That’s still
a result for you and your smarmy boss, innit?’

‘I’ll have to put it to him. So let’s get down to the nitty-gritty. If you’re not going to testify, presumably you’re going to set him up. How?’

‘I’m not gonna go into that now. But y’know Sean’s business has always been drugs and that’s what he’s getting back into.’

Bradley shook his head dismissively. ‘So all you’re really offering us is a drugs bust?’

Kaz stared in disbelief. ‘Fuck me, whad’you expect Bradley?’ She spat the words at him. ‘You know why I want Sean back in jail? Well, I’ll tell you. I was ten years
old when he started to come after me, touching me up, trying to kiss me. You grow up round men like him and my old man, you know if you don’t give ’em what they want, they’ll beat
the shit out of you. Every time he come round to my parents’ house, he’d find the opportunity to grab me, take me in the garden or upstairs and fuck me. When that bastard went down I
thought it was the best day of my life. I’m doing this for me, not for Joey.’

She turned her head away, she didn’t want Bradley to see the tears. They both sat in silence for several moments, then he patted her shoulder, gently, unobtrusively.

‘I’ll talk to Turnbull.’

Turnbull sat in his high-backed leather chair, a panorama of London rooftops framed in the window behind him. Mayhew’s tubby frame was crammed into one of the chairs
facing the desk, Bradley sat in the other. Turnbull rubbed his eyes, glanced at his phone, picked up his fountain pen and started to turn it over, end to end, repeatedly.

‘How many weeks have you been on this Bradley? And this is the best you can come up with?’

Bradley was mesmerized by the pen, the barrel was marbled, it had a gold clip. He had to drag his eyes away.

‘I think the thing is sir, we should regard this as a way in. She’ll have become our chiz. We get one Phelps back behind bars and we gain her trust. That gives us something to work
with. It’s a win-win situation.’

Turnbull pushed the chair back in disbelief. ‘She tells you some sob story about being raped as a kid and you fall for it. This is Joey trying to eliminate the competition. She’s
playing you.’

Bradley jutted his chin out. ‘With all due respect, I don’t think so. If Joey wanted rid of Sean, I think he’d take him out. This isn’t Joey’s style, it’s
coming from her.’

Turnbull sighed, glanced at Mayhew. ‘What are we going to do with him Bill? Boy’s had his head turned.’

Mayhew ran a thumb round his belt, easing the pressure on his paunch. He agreed with Bradley, it was an opening, he couldn’t really fathom why the boss was so dead against it.
‘Maybe. But we could play along, see what she is prepared to give us.’

Turnbull slapped his palm firmly on the desk. ‘No. I think we need to apply a bit of lateral thinking here.’ He pondered. ‘What this gives us potentially is
leverage.’

Bradley shot a covert glance at Mayhew, who blinked a couple of times, he was looking rather sleepy. Turnbull was back to twiddling his pen, his eyes were focused off into the near distance, he
seemed to be plotting. After a moment or two he zeroed back in on Bradley. ‘Presumably you recorded the conversation you had with her?’

It was standard practice, Bradley knew it. His heart sank.

‘No . . . I, er . . .’

Turnbull gave him a withering look.

‘Sorry sir, I didn’t really get the chance.’

‘Well, she’s not to know that, is she? You think she’s frightened of Sean Phelps.’

‘Probably. She certainly hates him.’

Turnbull got up from his desk, put his hands in his trouser pockets and started to jingle the change.

‘Right, this is what I want you to do. You go back to her and tell her that you made a digital recording of the conversation you had and Sean Phelps will be getting a copy unless she
agrees to inform against her brother.’

Bradley’s jaw slackened, he glanced at Mayhew for support. ‘Is that . . . strictly ethical sir?’

Turnbull laughed out loud. ‘Who do you think we’re dealing with here? These are violent organized criminals. I don’t give a toss about the ethics of it. Anyway, what
d’you think she’s going to do? Take us to the IPCC?’

‘Her lawyer might.’

‘Then you’d better hope, Bradley, that you’re right and she is shit-scared of Sean Phelps.’

Bradley sighed. The more encounters he had with the boss, the more he regretted his chosen course. Turnbull was staring right at him but Bradley managed to hold his gaze.

‘What am I supposed to tell the Assistant Commissioner? That you’ve had an attack of conscience?’ Turnbull shook his head. ‘You knew what was being asked of you at the
outset. Civil liberties and ethics are fine on the telly – unfortunately the likes of Joey Phelps don’t subscribe to that code.’

Bradley took a deep breath. This time he wasn’t about to be cowed by Turnbull. ‘Yeah, but we’re talking Karen Phelps here, not her brother. Sir.’

Turnbull settled back in his chair, placed his fingertips together and smiled. ‘Really. They’re so different, are they? Cop killer, convicted felon. I told you at the outset, this is
policing at the sharp end.’

‘I know sir, but—’

Turnbull gave the desk another dramatic thwack. Mayhew could see he was enjoying himself. It was clearly a charade, what Mayhew couldn’t figure was what lay behind it all. Why was he
bullying Bradley like this? It wasn’t his usual style, Turnbull was far too slick an operator. The boss had another agenda, that much was obvious.