Cut to the Bone (6 page)

‘Send the audio over to my email,’ he said, giving her the address. ‘Who was on duty when the Ruby Day call came through?’

Gill tapped away, Zain able to hear the gentle keystrokes.

‘An operative called Tom Williams,’ said Gill. ‘Is there a problem?’

‘No, just curious. What time did he take the call?’

‘It was one thirty-nine in the morning,’ she said.

‘Is there a log of who the emergency was directed to?’

‘Yes, an Officer Miller, down in Southwark,’ said Gill. ‘Arnold Miller.’

‘Thanks,’ said Zain.

He looked out into the Edgware Road traffic, his thoughts circling. His phone made the sound of a letterbox. Email from Gill Leake. He would open it when Riley was there.

Zain called Southwark police station, asked for PC Arnold Miller. He was off duty, did the night shift. Zain asked for his home number, said it was PCC business. That got the supervising officer’s back up. The Westminster commissioner was managing stretches of their patch. They resented him something twisted.

Constable Arnold Miller was asleep when Zain phoned.

‘This is Detective Sergeant Zain Harris, from the Police Crime Commissioner’s office.’

Miller coughed, a smoker’s cough, and Zain thought he heard the click of a lighter, confirmed by a momentary intake of breath on the other end.

‘How can I help you, Sergeant Harris?’ said Miller, yawning.

‘You took the despatch call Ruby Day early this morning,’ said Zain.

‘Yes,’ said Miller.

‘What did you do with the call?’

‘Usual – logged it on the system, started a case file. Then got ready to head out there.’

‘After the despatch call, how come you didn’t go to investigate? I was the first officer on the scene. Did you flag it up to the commissioner’s office?’

‘No. I was heading out, but Despatch called me back. Said the call had been escalated. Hope, I mean the commissioner, had asked for his office to lead.’

‘You didn’t think this was odd?’ said Zain.

‘Saved me a trip out, and who’s going to argue with the big chief, right?’

‘I take your point,’ said Zain.

‘I was surprised, though, that he was getting involved in the case,’ said Miller.

‘Golf buddies, you know how it is. Don’t worry about it. I’m taking charge of the files, so will restrict access.’

‘As you wish,’ said Miller, a long drag, smoke blown out. The adult version of the raspberry.

‘What’s your username and password for case files?’ said Zain. ‘So I can assign ownership to myself?’ A beat. ‘Alternatively, you can come down to the station, right now, and do it manually?’

‘I’m not sure about this, fella,’ said Miller.

‘Look, save us both some hassle, mate. I’m not going to implicate myself, so you’re fine.’

Thinking time. Smoke being drawn and released.

‘Username is MILL73. Password is MPC1783942,’ said Miller.

Zain repeated it back to him to confirm. ‘You kept the default password?’ he said.

‘Hey, I have enough problems remembering the one for my computer. Bastard changes every two weeks. So shoot me if I didn’t change the one for the database.’

‘No, it’s fine. Thanks, Miller. Go back to bed.’

Zain logged into the central database storing case files using Miller’s details, bringing up Southwark police station’s. He had credentials giving him access to most of the Met’s databases to some level, with full clearance for the majority of those in Hope’s patch. But he couldn’t reassign the case to himself without Miller’s login.

Ruby’s file was flagged as current. Tom Williams in Despatch had assigned the file to Miller. Zain made himself the new owner, and locked it down. He logged out and then logged back in again as himself, amending the record to show that the call to investigate had been flagged to him.

The case records now showed that the Days had called Despatch, and Tom Williams had sent the call through to the PCC’s Office. DCI Riley was called by Justin Hope, and then Zain called by her. Flawless chain. False chain.

Zain made a call.

‘It’s done. I’ve changed the database. The only part I couldn’t get to was Despatch records. They still show Miller’s involvement. But I have software at home, so I’ll do it later tonight.’

‘Very efficient, Zain,’ said the voice on the other end.

Zain felt a sliver of guilt, but shook it off. Convince yourself what you’re doing is justified. He didn’t say thanks, ended the call quickly instead. Riley was heading his way.

Chapter Fifteen

It was a woman’s voice. Shaken-up, drunk, hysterical.

‘Oh, God, please, we need an ambulance,’ she said.

‘What’s the emergency?’ said the emergency operator.

‘She’s hurt, I think she’s dead,’ said the woman.

It was interspersed with sobs, hiccups.

‘Who is? What’s happened? What’s your name, caller?’

‘Millie, it’s Millie, she’s Millie,’ said the woman. ‘She fell. She jumped. I don’t know. She’s down there, just not moving.’

‘You are calling from the Hotel Chrome?’

‘Yes. I’m in . . . doesn’t matter. Can you get here, please? We need a doctor, an ambulance. Hurry, please!’

The line went dead.

‘Is that all?’ said Kate.

Zain nodded, playing the call again on his phone.

‘Did you pull up the case file?’

‘Yes. Doesn’t say much,’ said Zain.

‘Why is Dan not in prison? If he threw her off the balcony?’

‘The charges were dropped,’ said Zain.

‘Why?’

‘Doesn’t say. I only downloaded the summary. Will review the full case file in the office.’

‘Is the girl, Millie, alive?’

‘Yes,’ said Zain.

‘How is that possible? If she was pushed from the tenth floor, into an empty swimming pool?’ said Kate.

Zain shrugged.

‘Let’s see what Dan Grant has to say about all this,’ said Kate. ‘Where does he live?’

‘It’s a flat in Borough,’ he said.

Zain started the car, plunged into the London traffic. He could smell the amber and ginger scent of Riley’s perfume.

‘You smell good,’ he said.

She ignored him, and called in to her boss, Detective Chief Superintendent Julie Trent.

‘The Days are with FLO and the Tech team now. If anyone gets in touch, we’ll know and start a trace, ma’am,’ said Kate. ‘We’re on our way to interview the boyfriend, Daniel Grant. The parents think there might be an issue with him. He’s got some form, possibly.’

Form. It sounded so public school, Zain thought. History of bad behaviour, more like. He beeped at someone cutting in front of him.

‘Yes, ma’am. And, ma’am, do you know yet why the commissioner called me directly? Why didn’t he run it by you? Yes, ma’am, I’ll report once I’m back,’ she said.

Have a nice day, thought Zain. That’s what she should say. Although Riley seemed to temper her American accent, tried to sound out the vowels as though they were local. It just made her sound even better, as far as he was concerned.

‘What did she say about Hope?’ said Zain, trying to keep his voice steady.

‘Doesn’t know. Somebody must have gotten him involved. He probably called Despatch and asked for the case to be sent to his office, and then he called me.’

Once again, Zain felt apprehensive about his involvement, about doctoring the database case files. DCI Riley seemed to have integrity, and he didn’t like to think how she would react if she ever found out.

Chapter Sixteen

Zain was heading over Waterloo Bridge for the fourth time that day, despite it being just after eleven. Eight hours since DCI Riley had first called him.

The traffic was moving, but he had to stop every few seconds. He switched on his car sound system, music bursting around them.

Kate was tapping away on her phone while drinking a coffee – which she had made him stop to buy – out of a styrofoam cup. It was non-branded; she said she had a thing against globalisation. Ironic coming from an American, he had thought. Was that racist?

His music pitched high, as the piece reached a crescendo.

‘What is this?’ she said.

‘It’s spiritual music, from Konya in Turkey,’ he said. ‘A present. If it’s annoying you, we can listen to something else.’

‘Can we have silence?’ she said.

‘Yep, no worries,’ he said.

He switched the music off. Silence filled the space between them. Uncomfortable, heavy and oppressive. He wanted to break it.

‘So what brought you to London?’ he said, unable to take the quiet any longer.

‘Does it matter?’ she said. ‘What made you come to London?’

‘I was born here,’ he said. ‘I am London.’

Silence again. Normal people would ask him to explain.

‘What about you? Why London? Whereabouts in America are you from?’ he tried again.

She sighed, sipped her coffee.

‘Massachusetts,’ she said. ‘A small town you would never have heard of.’

‘Try me,’ he said, grinning at her. Someone blasted their horn at him. The traffic had moved; he hadn’t kept pace. A few seconds later, they stopped again.

‘So why London?’ he persisted. ‘Isn’t America the land of milk and honey?

‘I’m pretty sure that’s Israel,’ she said. ‘How did you decide on this posting? Were you bored with SO15?’

So she wasn’t the type to do small talk.

‘Haven’t you read my personnel file?’ he said.

‘I like to hear it from the source,’ she said.

Zain stayed quiet. The car was now directly outside Waterloo station, near his flat.

‘Waterloo,’ she said. ‘That’s why I came to London. The history you find on almost every corner. I walk the streets, and it brings to life all the books I’ve read, all the things I’ve learned. I watch people, and they fly around London, taking every inch of it for granted. Me, I came as a teenager with my parents, and it stayed with me. I fell in love with it, so I made it my home.’

Zain was surprised at the intimacy of her words.

‘So why did you make the move? From SO15?’ she said.

Zain laughed. She’d given up something only because she wanted him to give more. ‘You must know why,’ he said.

‘I told you, I like it from the source.’

SO15 was the Met’s counter-terrorism command. Zain had been drafted in following a stint with GCHQ after university, but soon became enamoured with police work. There was an honesty to it. He smiled as he thought this, reflecting on what he had become in the end. He had retrained at Hendon Police College, done his duty as a rank and file, then been drafted into SO15.

‘You did well,’ said Kate. ‘I saw how quickly they moved you along.’

‘I was ideal for it. I knew London, and I don’t mean on the surface, but the grit in its claw.’

‘Until it went wrong,’ she said.

Fuck, she was cold, he thought. ‘It didn’t go wrong. Let’s just say I was wounded in the line of duty.’

‘I read the occupational health report,’ she said. ‘It seemed clinical. It talked about injuries, mental trauma. Sustained while on duty. Is that the line you’re going to spin me, too? I thought we were becoming friends?’

She said this with a set face, looking out of the car window.

‘What I want to know is, should I be worried? Are you over it? I’m curious, you see, because if you are so completely fixed, why did they send you on secondment?’

Zain ignored her, enjoying the rare free flow of traffic down the London Road. They drove past Elephant and Castle, and then hit Newington Causeway, where they caught more London gridlock. Borough wasn’t far away now; he could have just not answered. Instead, something compelled him to. She compelled him to.

‘We were staking out some al-Qaeda operatives,’ he said. ‘They were planning an attack, a hit on St Pancras station, the Eurostar. It was the usual set-up, a small cell, but they were weakned. Easy to keep tabs on, and they were leaking information badly. We were aware of their every move. It was a joint operation; we had an agent from MI5 with us.’

Zain remembered the agent; he had disappointed all preconceptions about spies. No James Bond, just a very ordinary, grey man, not memorable physically. Yet his mind was acutely tuned into the situation, the cell, SO15, and he had conveyed that intelligence in a low, authoritative voice.

‘The main part of the cell shifted location to another safe house,’ said Zain, ‘close to King’s Cross. I stayed at the primary location, running surveillance on the cell member left behind.’

They were at Borough Market now, and Zain found the street they were looking for. He parked his Audi outside the building Dan Grant lived in. It had a glass turnstile front door, with an access code and a security camera. Higher up were huge windows, giving the residents views out across the city.

‘What happened?’ said Kate.

It was a whisper, her breath warm with coffee as she spoke.

‘It was a trap. I was ambushed, dragged from the stakeout van. The cell we had been monitoring, they were just a decoy. The rest . . . well, you’ve read my file.’

The sun was almost blinding him through the windscreen, warming his face, creating a bright glow in the car. It wasn’t the day to delve into the darkness of his past.

‘How do we play this?’ he said, ending their conversation.

‘Sympathetic,’ she said, taking the hint. ‘Let me see what Daniel Grant’s about. I want to see his reaction when we talk about Millie.’

Something moved inside Zain as he watched Kate get out of his car. She pushed her hair over one ear, the dark brown flecked with auburn and copper as it caught the sunlight. Her eyes were bright as she looked out across the street, waiting for him to move.

Zain took his time, trying to shake off the feelings running through him.

She dulls my senses like wine, and stirs them like a storm. Was that Rumi? It should be.

‘Let’s see what the boyfriend has to say,’ she said, as they buzzed his flat.

There was no answer.

‘Maybe he’s not home,’ she said.

‘He’s home, or in the area,’ said Zain. ‘His mobile is, anyway.’

Kate gave him a look that said:
Who authorised that?

‘Did we get a trace on Ruby’s?’ she said instead.

‘Yes. It pretty much stopped transmitting close to home at seven thirty-nine last night. Someone removed the battery, I think.’