‘No.’
Instant. Emphatic. More a plea than a reply.
There’s recognition though. It’s in the pallor of his skin, the panic in his eyes. It’s in the way he puts the baby down, as if fear has weakened his body and he doesn’t trust himself to keep hold.
Parnell laughs. ‘We’ll take that as a yes then, Spencer. Don’t take up poker would be my advice.’ After a long silence, he adds, ‘And I’d try answering the question again. That would be my other piece of advice.’
‘Look, I didn’t know the details but she said she’d landed a big fish – “a crook with lots of cash”. I said to her, “What do you mean, a crook? What kind of crook?” She just laughed and said, “The worst kind.” ’
‘But she didn’t tell you his name?’
‘I’ve got a family.’
‘Which means she did.’
He looks desperate. A living, breathing, trembling definition of being trapped between a rock and a hard place. But there’s only one choice he’s ever going to make – self-preservation.
‘I’ll say it again – no, she didn’t tell me his name. And it doesn’t matter what you threaten, I’m not going to say that she did.’
22
Jacob Pope died this morning.
Serena Bailey hasn’t turned up on CCTV.
Brandon Keefe’s brother backs his story up, and still nothing to connect Masters to either a gun or the Caxton site.
And then Parnell and I enter the fray; heavy on motive, light on suspects.
Or provable suspects, I should say.
It’s fair to say Steele’s frustrated, and frustration is one of her more animated states. Anger makes her motionless; arms folded, chin high, four-inch heels stamped wide, virtually drilling the floor. Disappointment has her seated; hands clasped and head dipped, reproachful eyes peering up at you beneath her Chrissie Hynde fringe.
But for the past ten minutes, she’s been at full throttle. Hurtling like a roller coaster; right, left, up, down, corkscrewing around desks, trying to whip up logical debate. I’ve been keeping my head down, scribbling in my notebook, edging ever closer to dislodging the pebble in my shoe.
Finn – age 8. Just about to finish Year 3.
Poppy Bailey – age 6? Just about to finish Year 1.
Plus, a spot of personal planning:
NYC v SO15 – pros/cons
Check out US Visa situation – B2 Tourist??? ESTA?
‘So, Jacob Pope?’ asks Parnell, lobbing me a warning look – pay attention.
I throw my pen down and sit back.
‘Cardiac arrest,’ says Steele, currently circling Flowers’ desk. ‘Well, respiratory failure leading to cardiac arrest. His lung was punctured.’
‘Boo-fucking-hoo,’ says Flowers. ‘That’s karma for you. Who did the honours?’
It’s not often I agree with Flowers and I’m not about to start now. While I won’t be crying over Pope, his mum, who visited him regularly, undoubtedly will.
‘Lad called Arlo Rollins,’ confirms Steele. ‘A gang thing, they reckon. He’s saying nothing, which probably means he got his orders from the outside – they’ll be looking at his visits and calls, of course. Quiet lad, by all accounts, not prone to violence. Only twenty. He’s serving two years for various drug offences, although he’ll obviously be serving a whole lot more now. Another young life down the tubes.’
The hopelessness seems to drain her and she finally sits down. A silence falls briefly and then a sigh that could sink a ship.
‘So, you two . . .’ Me and Parnell. ‘Good golly, Miss Holly – what on earth was she playing at? Because that’s one heartbreaker of a lead you’ve bought back – a woman with more enemies than you can shake a stick at, but no easy way of tracking them down, short of putting out an appeal along the lines of, “Hey, were you blackmailed by Holly Kemp? Care to fuck up your marriage and become a murder suspect in the process? Come and have a chat with the Metropolitan Police . . . ” ’
‘We do have one suspect,’ I say. ‘Fellows.’
‘Er, we have two – Masters and Fellows,’ says Flowers. ‘And if it was Masters, I don’t think we’ll ever prove it conclusively, not now.’
‘Shall we just pack up then, Pete?’ snaps Steele. ‘File this one under a bit too tricky and head over to the Tavern?’ She turns her attention back on us. ‘So is Fellows the “big fish” Holly landed?’
Parnell answers. ‘Shaw’s face said yes, but do you know what I’m struggling with? Would she – would anyone – be stupid enough to blackmail someone like that? And he’s gay. He would have hardly gone home with her, so how would she have got him into a sexually compromising position?’
‘Maybe this was different, maybe she was threatening to out him?’ offers Emily, breaking into a yawn.
‘Yeah . . .’ Parnell considers it. ‘But how would Holly know that? Dyer said only a select few know. So even if Holly had targeted Fellows, it’s unlikely he’d say, “Sorry, love, not interested, I’m gay” to a complete stranger.’
I go out on a limb. ‘Look, he’s got to be the big fish. He’s a crook with lots of cash, which I know doesn’t exactly narrow down the crook pool, but Holly actually said his name to Dale Peters. Although, there is another angle . . .’ I brace myself, ready to set the cat among the pigeons. ‘What if she wasn’t blackmailing him? What if she was working for him, or with him, and that’s what she meant when she said she’d landed a big fish?’
Steele bounds over to my desk. ‘OK, this is interesting. Keep talking.’
I look to Parnell for reinforcements. ‘Remember Fellows mentioned Steve Butterfield?’
Flowers’ face darkens. ‘He did what? He’s got some nerve, that bastard! Steve Butterfield was my DCI at Redbridge, and a top bloke. It was sickening what happened to him. Everyone knows Fellows’ crew was behind that.’
‘OK, and so now we know what we know about Holly, doesn’t the similarity seem curious to you? Forget about Butterfield being one of us, he was a man who got caught in a compromising position in a career-ending photo. And he always insisted he’d been drugged.’
‘But that was about removing an obstacle, not blackmail,’ says Parnell. ‘Steve was too good at his job. He was taking too many of them out of the game, so they took him out.’
‘It’s in the same ball park, though,’ I insist. Steele nods along. ‘And using Fellows’ name to persuade Dale Peters to hand over £10,000 – how do we know Holly didn’t pull that same scam on other men? Maybe they had some sort of deal? Holly does the legwork but she gets to use Fellows’ name as leverage. They split the cash.’
‘Five thousand pounds each,’ scoffs Flowers. ‘That’d be a pair of cufflinks to someone like Fellows. Hardly worth the effort.’
‘Yeah, he’s not been in the four-figure game for a long time,’ admits Parnell.
‘Or the five-figure.’ Steele pivots on her heel and sweeps back to her seat. ‘Although it’s not a bad sum just for letting someone use your name. And he didn’t get where he is by turning his nose up at easy money.’