‘Waste of a phone call,’ Shames grunted, quickly adding, ‘No offence.’ Umar made a gesture signifying that none had been taken. ‘She’d have been better off calling a lawyer. Melissa Graham is in deep shit.’ Shames pointed at the blue door of number 39. ‘Top-floor flat, you’ve got her boyfriend bludgeoned to death and the bird he was shagging’s been drowned in the bath. Graham’s got his blood all over her, and her fingerprints are on the suspected murder weapon – a cycling trophy in the shape of a pedal; quite a handy weapon as it turns out.’ There was a pause as both men watched a trio of white-suited forensics technicians appear from round the corner and go inside the building.
Umar scanned the neighbouring properties. All of them had lights burning on the upper floors, despite the late hour. ‘At least the locals are being kept entertained.’
‘We aim to serve,’ Shames snorted. ‘A woman next door heard screaming and called 999. When the first uniforms arrived, they found Graham sitting on the floor, staring into space. Her first words to the officers were, quote-unquote, “that bitch was screwing my boyfriend.”’ He shot Umar a look that said Open and shut case.
‘She denies killing them, though, doesn’t she?’
‘Her story is that she found them in the bathroom and tried to revive the boyfriend. But you know what it’s like – she’ll get a lawyer, decide that she can’t remember anything and then go for some kind of temporary insanity defence. Get enough women on a jury who think playing away should be a capital offence and you’re off at the races.’
Or perhaps she’s telling the truth, Umar thought. ‘Maybe I should go and see her.’
Shames shook his head. ‘You’re too late. They took her to the station about twenty minutes ago.’
‘Islington?’
‘Don’t think so. They’re full, apparently. There was some gang fight up near Highbury tube earlier in the evening. I think she’s at Holborn.’
‘Okay, thanks.’ Looking up, he saw Shames’ boss watching them from a second-floor window. ‘How’s Postic doing?’
Shames followed Umar’s gaze, holding up a hand of acknowledgement as the Detective Inspector signalled for him to come inside. ‘Same old, same old. She’s pissed off with your guy, though. Thinks Carlyle dropped her in it with Bernie Gilmore with regard to Bradley Saffron.’
‘Who?’
‘The guy who was knifed on the naked bike ride. Bernie’s story only ended up as a couple of paragraphs on page 30, but Postic doesn’t like to have anything to do with the press.’
‘Neither does Carlyle.’
‘Hm.’ Shames edged back towards the house. ‘Anyway, that’s why we’re here. Three people who were on that bike ride are now dead. Something’s going on. Even if Melissa Graham did kill the two upstairs, she didn’t stab Saffron.’
‘No.’ Umar knew that himself. He had been there at the time.
‘And if she didn’t kill the two upstairs, well, we have to make sure we’ve covered all the possibilities.’ Shames gestured up at the flat. ‘I gotta get back inside. It’s a mess up there and it doesn’t look good for your girl. But go and talk to her, see what she says. We can catch up later.’
‘Fine.’ Umar turned and headed back in the direction from which he had arrived. As he reached Upper Street, his mobile started ringing. ‘Christina,’ he mumbled morosely as he plucked it from his pocket, ‘or Carlyle?’ Without looking at the screen, he placed the handset to his ear.
‘Yes?’
‘Sergeant Sligo?’
‘Yes, Commander.’ Recognizing the voice, Umar stiffened slightly. What the hell was Carole Simpson ringing him for?
‘Is Inspector Carlyle with you?’
‘No.’ The sergeant relaxed again. She wasn’t after him at all. ‘I’m up in-’
‘Do you know where he is?’
‘In bed, I would have thought, at this time of night.’ Umar stepped round a couple of young white guys coming the other way on the pavement. One of them took a drag on a large spliff while the other chatted away in an animated fashion. As he continued on, Umar breathed in deeply from the trail of Lebanese Black left in their wake.
‘Hm.’ The Commander had learned the hard way that her troublesome underling could get up to mischief at any hour. ‘When you next see the inspector, tell him to call me. I need to see him.’
‘Of course.’
‘Good night,’ Simpson clicked off. The sergeant continued on his way, wishing that he had a joint of his own.
Tossing the empty can of Stella into the gutter, Jade Jones let her foot dangle over the edge of the kerb. Through her alcoholic haze, she wondered what time it was. One thing was clear, the last train out of Paddington had left and services would not resume until sometime after five. She was in for a long wait.
Was Paul out looking for her right now? Her boyfriend was okay, but sometimes he could be a right pain. She hoped that he was worried; it served him right for picking a fight and calling her a ‘stupid slag’. Concentrating hard, she tried to remember what it was they had been arguing about, but her mind was totally blank. Whatever. When she arrived back home in the morning, he had better have learned his lesson.
Jade looked along Praed Street. Back home, the streets would have been long since deserted, but here there was still plenty of activity. A bus rumbled past, full of tired passengers heading home. Across the road, a 24/7 mini-market was still doing a brisk trade. Sticking a hand in her pocket, she found a handful of coins, more than enough for another couple of cans of lager. Just as she was about to step off the pavement, a car pulled up. The driver, an Asian guy, wound down the window and gave her a friendly smile.
‘Missed your train home?’
‘Uh-huh.’ Jade placed a hand on the car roof to steady herself.
‘Need a place to stay?’
‘Nah.’ Jade shook her head. ‘I’m okay. Just gonna get another drink and wait in the station.’
‘We’ve got a nice place just round the corner. Lots of booze. And you can have a kip until it’s time to get your train.’
Jade looked up and down the road. Suddenly, the place seemed deserted. She gripped the vehicle more tightly for support. ‘Nah. It’s fine.’
‘Come on, it will be fun. We can have a party.’
There was a loud click. The back door of the car opened and a big white bloke struggled out.
Why didn’t I notice you before? Jade thought. She suddenly realized how tired she felt. Her head was swimming and she wondered if she was going to be sick.
‘You don’t want to be stuck out here in the middle of the night,’ the white guy said, taking her by the arm. Jade noticed he had a CFC tattoo on his forearm and her face broke into a crooked grin.
‘Chelsea,’ she slurred. ‘JT and the Special One. My boyfriend’s a Chelsea fan.’
‘Top man,’ the guy smiled, carefully ushering her into the back of the car.
FORTY-ONE
Pushing open the door of his battered Vauxhall Corsa, Sergeant Adrian Napper stepped out into the deserted alleyway, yawning as he stretched. Three hours sitting in the car watching sweet fuck all happening was exhausting. Surveillance work was invariably a pain in the arse, and this was a complete waste of time. He was ready to call it a night. First, however, he needed a piss.
Slipping round the back of the vehicle, Napper lined himself up facing a garage door and unzipped his fly. ‘Aaaah,’ he breathed contentedly as a stream of piss slammed against the metal, ‘that feels good.’
He was still in full flow when he heard the sound of an engine coming towards him. Keeping his head down, he continued about his business as the car rumbled slowly past, coming to a stop thirty feet down the road. There was the click of a door opening and then the sound of footsteps on the cobbles behind him. Zipping himself up, Napper turned to face a large bloke standing in front of him with a crooked smile on his face. Under the sodium lighting, he could see that the guy had a tattoo on his arm and a hammer in his hand.