The Informant (43 page)

Bradley gave him a broad confidential smile. ‘I’m not lying. I’ve never shagged your sister. Truth is I would’ve liked to. She’s fit. Just never got the
chance.’

Joey held out a hand in Tolya’s direction. Tolya gave him an iPhone. Joey swiped the screen with his middle finger, brought up the video and held it in front of Bradley’s face.
‘Take a look at this.’

The short video sequence was of Bradley and Kaz outside the tube station. It had been filmed from across the road. Their voices were inaudible, drowned out by the general noise of the street.
But it was all there, standing close together, her grabbing his hand, the hug, the final chivalrous kiss.

Joey grinned. ‘Nice touch that, kissing her hand. Girls like that stuff, don’t they?’ The smile faded. ‘I reckon you been shagging her more or less since she got out the
nick. You was there at the hostel – saw you leaving her room meself.’

Bradley took a deep breath. ‘Okay . . . I’ll admit that was the brief. Get close to her, get it on with her. But she turned me down Joey, every step of the way. That’s the
God’s honest truth.’

Joey shook his head slowly and wearily. Then his fist shot out landing a lightning blow squarely in Bradley’s face. Bone cracked, Bradley cried out as blood gushed from his smashed nose.
He had to spit in order not to choke.

Joey leant his head to one side. ‘You really think I’m fucking stupid, don’t you? Well I’m not. I’m gonna ask you again, how long you been shagging my
sister?’

He stood in front of Bradley, balanced and easy on the balls of his feet, readying himself to deliver a second punch. But the door to the lock-up creaked open and Ashley appeared.

Joey turned towards him, annoyed. ‘Well . . . where is she?’

‘Couldn’t find her. Went to her place, back to your place. Phoned her – she’s not picking up.’

Joey took a couple of strides across the floor until he was right in Ashley’s face.

‘One fucking thing I give you to do and you can’t fucking do it!’

‘She’s disappeared Joe. So’s Glynis.’

‘They haven’t disappeared. What are they, fucking ghosts? It’s just you’re too stupid to find them.’

‘Well where else d’you want me to look?’

Joey started to pace. He flung his arms in the air, jabbed his finger in Bradley’s direction. ‘I wanted this sorted out, now, tonight. How am I supposed to do that without her here,
eh?’

He glanced at Bradley, walked over towards him. ‘Where’s she gone? Tell me.’

Bradley’s mouth hung open, it was the only way he could breathe. With some effort he raised his head and looked Joey directly in the eye. ‘I don’t know. You can beat me to
death here and now, but the answer’ll still be I don’t know.’

Joey swivelled on his heel. ‘Aaww fuck this.’ He stormed towards the door. ‘I’ll find her myself.’ He shot a glance at Tolya. ‘Tie him up properly, I
don’t want him going walkabout.’

The door slammed behind him. Bradley felt the solid knot of tension in his stomach start to loosen; for the moment at least, Joey was gone.

Marko Dimitrenko sat at the table in the interview room. His gangling frame and rounded shoulders had the effect of making him look more downtrodden than he really was. The
lawyer took the seat beside him. They’d only met half an hour previously, but he was Joey’s man, a top professional; this was what Joey had always promised and indeed Neville Moore
seemed to fit the bill. He’d immediately taken charge of the situation. He knew the senior cop, a rather stout, middle-aged woman; they’d exchanged pleasantries. Marko simply assumed
the lawyer was bribing her and the interview was for the sake of appearances.

Cheryl Stoneham switched on the tape deck, went through the usual round of identification: the suspect, his lawyer, herself and her colleague, DS Nicci Armstrong. Then she asked Marko whether he
wanted an interpreter present.

Marko felt this was a deliberate insult, designed to unnerve him. He stared at her coldly. ‘I can speak to you in Russian, English, German or French. You choose.’

Stoneham gave him a tight smile. ‘I’ll take that as a no then.’

Neville Moore inclined his head and sighed. Nicci watched him. He was working hard at giving the impression that this was all a big misunderstanding.

‘Chief Inspector, my client is a highly educated man, an academic in his own country, and he wishes to offer you his full cooperation.’

Cheryl Stoneham exchanged a glance with Nicci. ‘Well we’re jolly pleased to hear that Mr Moore.’

However a sixth sense was telling her the lawyer was looking a little too smug. He had something up his sleeve.

Neville turned to Marko. ‘Did you write out the formulas?’

Marko huffed, all this police nonsense was making him impatient. He wanted to get home, see what damage these idiots had done to his lab. But most of all he wanted to see Leysa. He pulled a
square of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. The paper was covered in chemical formulae, strings of equations and numbers written out in a small, neat hand. Moore pushed the sheet across the
table in Stoneham’s direction.

‘This is to assist your forensic laboratory in their analysis of any substances seized from Dr Dimitrenko’s premises.’

Stoneham considered the hieroglyphics in front of her, showed the paper to Nicci. ‘And the point of this, Mr Moore?’

Neville smiled, he always liked this bit and it didn’t happen often. But pulling the rug out from under the police was, for him, great sport. ‘Dr Dimitrenko is a scientist, a
research chemist, and he is proud of the fact that he has produced an entirely synthetic compound to replace safrole, the oil that is the primary precursor of MDMA.’

Stoneham fixed Marko with a hard stare. He was sitting now with arms folded, a look of arrogant disdain on his face.

Nicci stepped in. ‘So Dr Dimitrenko, you admit that you’ve been trying to manufacture MDMA, an illegal class-A drug?’

Marko just glanced at Neville Moore, who smiled at Nicci and inclined his head.

‘No Sergeant. He categorically denies that. As you know the Misuse of Drugs Act has been extended by order to cover various chemical compounds: MDMA or Ecstasy and more recently
Mephedrone. But what my client has created is an entirely new product outside of these definitions and neither a Class-A or Class-B drug within the meaning of the Act.’

Stoneham picked up the sheet of paper. Her colour was rising. ‘By product you mean a new designer drug that replicates the effects but isn’t the same formula as the rest of the
poisonous crap that’s out there?’

Moore held out his open palms. ‘The law is an imperfect tool Chief Inspector. But what you have seized and what Dr Dimitrenko has created is a perfectly legal high as a full chemical
analysis will show.’

Stoneham shoved her chair back and got up. She was steaming. ‘Yeah, until it kills some fifteen-year-old kid in a club!’

Moore knew he’d won, Stoneham’s uncharacteristic flash of temper was ample evidence of that. But he smiled politely. ‘That’s merely speculation. Legal highs are part of
the recreational life of millions, much like alcohol. Now . . . since my client has broken no laws I presume he’s free to go?’

Stoneham swallowed a bitter riposte and fixed him with a cold, hard stare. ‘No. We will be holding Dr Dimitrenko until his immigration status can be confirmed.’

Marko stared at her in disbelief. He turned to Moore. ‘What? What’s this crap? I need to go home, see my wife! Now!’

Stoneham leant over the tape deck. ‘Interview concluded at twenty fifteen.’

She switched the machine off, glanced at Marko. ‘Your wife has been helping us with our inquiries and will also be handed over to the UK Borders Agency.’

Marko jumped up, flung back his chair.

‘No, you cannot hold us.’ He rounded on Neville. ‘Just pay her, pay her more!’ He glared at Stoneham. ‘How much you want?’

Neville’s eyes closed. He placed his hand over his face in disbelief then glanced up at Stoneham with a beseeching look. ‘I apologize Chief Inspector. There are as you can see some
cultural differences here that need ironing out . . .’

Stoneham returned the look, now the boot was on the other foot. It went some way to making up for this shambles.

‘I understand that Mr Moore and I’ll leave you to explain the facts of life to your client. But if I have anything to do with it he’ll be deported.’

Nicci followed Stoneham out of the room. The DCI stomped down the corridor straight into the women’s toilets. She slapped the door of the nearest stall. ‘Jesus H.
Christ on a fucking raft!’

Nicci exhaled. ‘They could be trying to pull a fast one. Baffle us with science. When the lab actually analyses the stuff they could still decide it’s MDMA.’

Cheryl sighed, shook her head. ‘I know Neville Moore. He’s a slick operator, never sticks his neck out too far.’

She ran the tap, cupped her hands and filled them with water. She splashed it on her face.

‘What really gets to me is that arrogant bastard thinks I’m bribable. I’ve been in this job a long time, seen my share of nasty villains. But this one, he really doesn’t
think he’s doing anything wrong, does he? He wants to go out in one of our vans on a Saturday night. Scrape up some of the kids that are full of booze and pills made of fuck knows what. Haul
them down to A & E and hope that pumping their stomachs’ll save their lives.’

Nicci put her hand on Stoneham’s shoulder and patted it. ‘I’m sure we’ve got enough of a case for deportation. That’ll shut up the shop for now.’

Stoneham turned to her. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t do this in front of you. You’re the junior officer, but you’re holding it together. I’m the one blowing my stack. I
really thought we had them. I’ve been chasing Joey Phelps a long time.’

Nicci gave her a weary shrug. ‘He’s not your average villain. Somehow he always manages to slip the noose.’

The taxi cruised sedately up the winding drive to Woodcote Hall. Kaz had caught the last train of the evening to Leeds and checked into an anonymous-looking hotel in Bishopgate
Street close to the station. She’d set her phone alarm to wake her at seven, grabbed coffee, fruit and a croissant at the station buffet and taken the Wharfedale Line to Ilkley. As the train
climbed up out of the Aire Valley, Kaz had eaten her breakfast and communed with the sheep. Being out of London, out of Essex, in a very different landscape felt odd at first. But it also finally
brought her some relief, made her realize how much she wanted to feel free. She thought about New York and the prospect of a life far away in a place where Joey couldn’t follow her. Well, he
could follow her, but Kaz felt that taking on America was beyond even Joey’s inflated ambition.

However she couldn’t contemplate running away without first seeing Natalie and making sure she was okay. She picked up the taxi at Ilkley station, the driver was familiar with her
destination and chatted amiably as they wound their way a dozen or so miles north into the Dales.

Joey had described the place as seriously posh and for once he hadn’t been lying. Kaz waited in the oak-panelled library. After about five minutes Doctor Iqbal entered wreathed in smiles.
He scanned the room rapidly as he offered his hand to shake.

‘Apologies for keeping you waiting Miss Phelps. You are on your own I see. I thought your brother might be with you.’

Kaz returned the smile. ‘No, just me. Joey’s busy.’

‘Well I think that might be for the best. Your sister is . . . easily overwhelmed.’

Kaz nodded but she couldn’t help sense the tension in Iqbal. ‘She’s okay, isn’t she? Only you look a bit worried.’

Iqbal shook his head. ‘I have a very full schedule today, that’s all. Natalie is doing well. Very well. She is out of detox, she has been participating in therapy. I think
you’ll find her much improved.’

‘That’s great.’

‘Still a way to go, but . . . you can make your own judgement. I’ll get one of my staff to take you up to her room.’

‘Thank you.’

Iqbal inclined his head politely, but he was frowning. He hesitated, then seemed to come to a decision.

‘I hope you will understand that our priority here is always to serve the best interests of the patient.’

Kaz nodded. ‘Yeah, well that’s what my brother’s paying you for.’

Iqbal gave her a thin smile. ‘Indeed.’

Natalie’s room was at the end of a long corridor. The nurse who escorted Kaz was round and motherly but very neat in her pale mauve tunic. She said her name was June,
she’d come to Woodcote Hall five years ago when she gave up on the NHS. Natalie was eating well, not large portions, but good food. She was improving on a daily basis.

June tapped politely on the heavy oak door and opened it. There was a large leather wing chair by the window. Natalie was curled up in it, her eyes were closed, but she wasn’t sleeping.
She was wearing a swish pair of headphones and her fingers were drumming on the arm of the chair to some barely audible beat.

June stood in front of her patiently until, sensing a presence, Natalie opened her eyes. Her face immediately broke into a wide smile, she removed the headphones. June leant over her, patted her
arm.

‘You’ve got a visitor lovey.’

Natalie swivelled in the chair and glanced in Kaz’s direction with an expectant smile on her face. As soon as she saw Kaz, she frowned.

‘Oh . . .’

June gave her another reassuring pat. ‘Wrong day dear. But I’ll leave you with your sister. I’m sure you’ve got lots of catching up to do.’

Kaz scanned the room. It wasn’t large, but the ceiling was high and dual-aspect windows made it light and airy. The walls were a soft peach with fabrics and furnishings to match. There was
a washbasin, mirror and vanity unit in one corner. A cork pinboard was propped in another with a large sheet of paper taped to it, part collage, part painting. Kaz’s eye was immediately drawn
to its riotous colours.

June picked up a high-backed chair and brought it over for Kaz. ‘Now don’t feel you girls have to stay inside. The grounds are lovely. And it’s good for Natalie to get out in
the fresh air.’

Kaz nodded her thanks and sat down on the chair, which June had placed next to Natalie’s. She gave her sister what she hoped was a warm smile. The door shut behind June and they sat in
silence for several moments.