Team Spirit (Special Crime Unit Book 1) (24 page)

‘Nina...’

‘I
know, I know. Don’t worry, I’ll let her live. I just need to know, so...’

‘So
what?’

‘So
I know what I’m up against.’

‘
Were
up against.’

She
studied his eyes, but they didn’t waver. She said, ‘All right. But whatever it
is, maybe I can work on it.’

‘You
really don’t want to know.’

‘I’ll
be the judge.’

‘You
are not,’ he tried desperately, ‘going to like it.’

‘I
already don’t like it. Just tell me.’

In the split second
before the next track began blasting out of the PA, the whole club heard it.

‘You
bastard
!’

Nina
punched Paul hard in the face and ran off the dancefloor.

‘Gawd,’ Kim Oliver
groaned, as the team watched her headlong flight. ‘Here we go again.’

‘’Scuse
me,’ Sandra muttered, edging her way out of the booth.

She
found Nina outside in the street, minus her jacket, looking wildly this way and
that at the passing traffic as if searching for a taxi. At the touch of
Sandra’s hand on her arm she started.

‘Come
back inside, Nina.’

‘Too
hot in there.’

‘One
way of putting it,’ Sandra said.

‘I
made him tell me,’ Nina said matter-of-factly, spotting a black cab and making
a move towards the kerb. Sandra hauled her back.

‘You
can’t get a taxi.’

‘I’ve
got to.’

‘You
can’t. You left your handbag inside. Come on.’

‘D’you
think I was asking for it?’

‘I
dunno,’ Sandra said, ushering her back up the steps. ‘I wasn’t privy to the
conversation.’

‘I
thought I could try and live up to whoever she was, what she had to offer that
I didn’t,’ Nina said, half hysterically. ‘But
this
! This takes the fucking
biscuit.’

‘Do
I know her?’

‘How
the hell am I meant to compete with...?’ She tripped on the top step in
uncoordinated rage. ‘What is it? What’s missing?’

‘I
dunno,’ Sandra said again, wishing Nina would make some sense. She pushed open
the door and scowled at a doorman who moved to block their path. He stepped
aside.

Back
at the booth there was no sign of Paul. Somewhere, there was an irritating
buzzing noise.

‘Well,’
Sandra said, ‘that one of us or not?’

‘It’s
me,’ Nina said, calm again. ‘I’m on call.’

Helen
picked up Nina’s bag and handed it to her. She took it with a cursory nod,
rummaged inside, glanced at the mobile and scampered off to find somewhere
quiet to talk.

‘Saved
by the bell,’ Zoltan Schneider said.

It took them a few
minutes to realise she wasn’t coming back. Sandra was sent in search of her.
She hadn’t checked her jacket out of the cloakroom, but the doorman took great
satisfaction in informing her that he’d seen her go outside again. Sandra went
out onto the pavement, but Nina wasn’t there. She must have found a cab after
all.

Cursing,
she went back in. Paul was with the team, holding a frosted beer glass to an
eye that was well on the way to a world-class shiner. He said, ‘Did you find
her?’

‘Gone,’
Sandra grumbled. ‘Buggered off in a cab or bus, most likely. Whatever that call
was, looks like she’s wanted at the nick.’

Strictly speaking,
Nina knew, it wasn’t her case. Sandra had been in on the original interview,
and at the very least she should have rung Sophia at home. But the incident
seemed so peripheral, so easily sorted, there was no point ruining Sandra’s
evening, or disturbing the guv’nor’s beauty sleep and dragging her all the way
over from Sevenoaks.

So
she told herself. Not so deep down, she knew perfectly well why she’d left
without a word. What Paul had told her had taken away her last hope of keeping
the keel stable. Instead of a goal, she was left with the starkness of
rejection.

The
call was an opportunity to escape, to cast the ruins of her marriage to the
back of her mind for a while. Most immediately, to devote her full attention to
sobering up while the taxi drove her home so that she could change and take her
own car. Before long she was in the charge room at Croydon nick. Drunken
hollers echoed occasionally up from the cells, but apart from a young black man
slumped on a bench the room itself was empty. The female custody sergeant was
new, and looked up without recognition.

‘DC
Tyminski,’ Nina told her. ‘You rang me.’

‘Fun
night?’ The sergeant looked her up and down. Nina realized she must still look
a lot more over the limit than she felt. Self-consciously she straightened up.
The sergeant gestured towards the figure on the bench. ‘That there is Mr Luke
Benton. Picked up outside Mayday burns unit.’

Nina
frowned at the sleeping youth. ‘D and D?’

‘Right,’
the sergeant said. ‘The lads who brought him in thought it was probably the
booze talking, but he kept shouting about having some information for DCI
Beadle. Mean anything?’

‘Maybe,’
Nina lied. ‘Have you charged him?’

The
sergeant seemed to take this as an affront to the way she ran things. She frowned
and said, ‘He wouldn’t be sitting there if I had.’

‘I
s’pose not.’

‘He’s
got no previous so I gave him a mild ticking off, whereupon he promptly fell
asleep.’

‘Great,’
Nina sighed. ‘What d’you want me to do with him?’

‘There’s
a Mr Lynott waiting out front to take him home,’ the sergeant said. ‘What say
you go find him?’

Between them they
managed to get Luke mobile, but he was barely conscious. His friend stood up in
alarm as they emerged into the front office, but said nothing until he’d
relieved the custody sergeant of her burden. Grimacing, she wiped dribble off
her shoulder with a hankie and disappeared back into the bowels of the station.

‘Mr
Lynott?’

‘Nick,’
the friend said, peering at Luke for some sign of recognition. ‘What’s
happening?’

Nina
told him about it and identified herself. ‘We haven’t met, but I am involved
with the investigation. Luke’s staying with your folks, is that right?’ Nick
nodded. ‘First thing, we’d better get him home. Have you got transport?’

‘No
way.’ Nick shook his head emphatically. ‘I’ve had four lagers. Wasn’t gonna
risk it.’

With
a twinge of guilt, Nina said, ‘All right, sit him down here for a sec. I’ll
bring my car round.’

A
few minutes later they were heading for Thornton Heath. Getting Luke’s rag doll
body into the back seat of the Mini had proved an impossible task. Nina had
finally decided to let him go in the front, and run the risk of him chucking up
on her cardigan.

Over
her shoulder she asked Nick, ‘Any idea how he got like this?’

‘He’s
been moping around the hospital all week,’ Nick said, ‘and when he ain’t been
moping around there he’s been sitting in his room. Me and a couple of mates
decided to take him out for the evening, try and get his mind off his
troubles.’

‘How
much did he have to drink?’

‘Dunno.’

‘Sev’n
pints ‘n’ two double Scotches,’ Luke slurred proudly, and went back to sleep.

‘Thanks,’
Nina said without blinking. ‘So what happened?’

‘Said
he was going for a piss,’ Nick said. ‘When he didn’t come back and we couldn’t
find him, we assumed he’d gone home.’

‘But
when you got back he wasn’t there?’

‘My
parents were in bed. The door to the spare room was shut so I thought he must
be and all. Then half an hour later the police rang. Said he’d been running
round the hospital, shouting and causing a disturbance.’

‘The
officers who picked him up said something about him yelling he had information
for my guv’nor - Mrs Beadle,’ Nina said. ‘Any idea what that might’ve been
about?’

‘Didn’t
they tell you?’

‘They’re
back out on patrol. I haven’t had a chance to talk to them yet.’

Nick
said, ‘Luke mentioned a phone call; it’d answer a lot of questions or
something, he said. Nearest he got to talking about the fire. We were trying to
keep him off the subject.’

‘He
didn’t say who the call was from?’

‘Not
in my hearing.’ She could see Nick’s reflection glaring at her in the rear view
mirror. ‘Why don’t you ask him?’

                           
Sunday

The endurance of
even the hardiest coppers starts to flag, faced at two in the morning by a
nightclub filled for the most part with the energetic gyrations of people who
seem barely out of the cradle; by a layer of noise from the sound system as
thick now as the alcoholic fog that now filled several of the team’s skulls.
Jeff Wetherby had to crane across the table to Anne to make himself heard.

‘As
somebody once said,’ he yelled, ‘I’m getting too old for this shit.’

‘Bollocks.’
Sandra, omnipresent tonight, stuck her head in between them. ‘All in your mind.
Look at me.’

‘Aye,
we all know
you’ll
stay till the bitter end.’

‘And
us,’ Anne backed her up, linking her arm in with Zoltan’s.

‘Wimp,’
Sandra said.

‘It’s
not just me.’

‘Well,’
Sandra leered, ‘can only be one other reason you’d want to slope off.’

He
paled at the inference and reflexively started to look behind him for Jasmin.
‘I only said soon.’

‘Long
as you’re up,’ Sandra said, pointing, ‘d’you want to do something about that?’

He
followed her finger. Lucky had had two or three more rums, and it showed. She’d
laid her head on her folded arms on the table, and appeared to be talking
volubly about something. Paul was trying to get her to sit up, but from the
look on his face she was giving him a hard time.

‘Before
they try and chuck her out again,’ Jeff sighed. ‘OK. See if I can find Juliet.’

It
took a while, but eventually he prised her away from a young man who seemed to
think he was a stag in the rutting season. Passing mention of a nice warm cell
got it through to him that Jeff was a copper, and that squaring up wouldn’t be
a good idea.

‘Lucky’s
a bit the worse for wear,’ Jeff explained, as they made their way back to the
booth.

‘What’s
she done?’

‘Nothing
terrible, yet. She’s had about six rum and blacks, but other than that - ‘

‘
Six
? Oh, great.’

‘Can’t
hold her drink?’

‘Depends.’
Juliet quickened her pace. ‘I didn’t realise she’d... I only saw her have two.’

Paul
moved along to make space for her as she clambered over people’s legs. ‘There
you are.’ Lucky lifted her head and let it drop again. ‘Missed all the fun.’

‘I
heard,’ Juliet said, anxious not to let her embarrass Paul with a full-volume
report on Nina’s dramatic exit.

‘See,
what he realises,’ Lucky persisted, ‘is he can get away with treating us like
shit, ‘cause we give off all the wrong signals. Women, I mean. Men treat us
like shit, and we just go round with our chins on our chests putting up with
it, hoping they’ll take it as a signal we’re unhappy.’

‘Larissa,’
Juliet said, ‘you’re pissed.’

‘I’ve
never done that. Always had self-respect. Always. Never let anybody treat me
like shit. And now I don’t know what’s happening.’

She
turned her head away and buried her face in her arms.

‘Loads
of people get drunk,’ Marie Kirtland called across. ‘
I
get drunk on occasion. Doesn’t
make me an alkie.’ Lucky didn’t move. Marie frowned. ‘I think I misunderstood.’

‘I’m
going to have to take her home,’ Juliet said, looking up.

‘D’you
need a lift?’ Neil said.

‘We
can get a cab.’

‘Have
to wait hours, this time of night,’ Sandra said. ‘Somebody can take you.’

‘Anyone
going New Addington way?’ Juliet asked, none too hopefully.

Kim
said, ‘I can make a detour.’

Juliet
looked remorseful. ‘Don’t want to spoil the party.’

‘That’s
all right. I was about ready to call it a night anyway.’

‘Told
you,’ Jeff said pointedly to Sandra.

Nina left Nick
Lynott to put Luke to bed and aimed the car homewards. Passing through the town
centre, on an impulse she took the underpass towards South Croydon instead of
the left turn into George Street and Addiscombe Road.

In
the twilight before dawn 84 Chapel View looked almost rustic, with little hint
of the inferno that had left Doreen Benton dead and little Robin in intensive
care, dangling from a fraying thread of life. She parked and stared
unedifyingly at it for a few minutes, then drove on, as if summoned, to the
Clarkes’ house in Ballards Way. She understood what Kim had meant about the
Polaroid and why it had been driving her crazy; there was something here as
well, something that in her distressed state of mind she’d allowed to escape
into her subconscious.

Careful,
at this still hour, not to make too much noise with engine or handbrake, she
pulled up at the observation point she’d used before. She was surprised to see
light shining from a chink in the Clarkes’ downstairs curtains. Someone was
still up. Everything else seemed as usual: windows closed, burglar alarm on,
both cars in the drive.

Then
she saw something that hadn’t been there. Parked outside the house was a dark
blue Vauxhall Astra. Nina had been driving since she was seventeen, and knew
about unvarying suburban habits, residents and commuters who parked in the same
spot day after day. She’d never seen an Astra there before, and besides, almost
all the houses in Ballards Way had garages or driveways.

On a
whim, she reached for her phone and dialled the CAD room. The musical Swansea
accent of Derek Simons answered her and she smiled. She liked Derek. Unaware of
her married status, he’d once asked her out. She felt almost reckless enough to
encourage him to try again, but not right now.

‘It’s
Nina Tyminski,’ she said. ‘Sorry to use the direct line, only I haven’t got a
PR. I’m on my mobile.’

‘No
problem. It’s quiet tonight. What can I do you for, then?’

‘I
wonder if you can PNC a vehicle for me?’

‘Have
to ask you for your warrant number,’ Derek said.

She
gave him her mobile number as well, and the Astra’s colour and registration,
cut the connection and waited. It took him only moments.

‘Tyminski.’

‘Dark
blue Astra,’ Derek said, reading back the index number. ‘Tax and MOT expired.
Registered to a Michael Philip Quaife, 33 Carmen Street, SW8. Good one, this,
‘cause - ’

‘I know
about his previous,’ Nina said. ‘Thanks a lot, Derek. I owe you.’

She
cut him off in mid-polite disclaimer and sat, heartbeat racing, trying to
decide on a course of action. She knew now, thanks to Luke’s drunken ramblings,
where the attention of the enquiry should be directed; just as clearly as she
now recalled what it was about that night in the Clarkes’ living room that had
so troubled her.

‘Only I thought
since she’s off anyway,’ Jeff said, ‘you’d be going with Kim.’

‘She
has enough on her plate right now, don’t you think?’ Jasmin smiled and pointed
to the booth, where Lucky had finally been coaxed to her feet.

‘You
could be right.’ He took a deep breath that did nothing to quell the
butterflies. ‘OK, then, shall we go?’

‘Uh-huh.’

Nearby, further
departures were being prepared. Juliet’s efforts to persuade Lucky to accept a
lift having finally paid off, Kim Oliver found Anne with Zoltan on the
dancefloor and exchanged goodbyes that, from both women’s points of view, were
unexpectedly emotional.

‘I
feel sorry for you it’s been a bit, like, eventful.’

‘Not
at all.’ Anne sniffed and wiped away a tiny tear. ‘It could have been boring,
and then I wouldn’t’ve missed you all.’

‘After
all,’ Zoltan put in, employing one of his most sardonic grins, ‘what would a
Special Crime piss-up be without a healthy serving of drama?’

‘Quite
right,’ Anne said, kissing him firmly on the lips. ‘I’m having a fantastic
time.’

‘Probably
see you around, then,’ Kim said.

‘Probably.’
Anne broke away from Zoltan and embraced her again. ‘Bye... sarge.’

‘Sarge
yourself,’ she grinned. ‘Good luck making movies.’

‘At a guess,’ Jeff
said, ‘bad news from home.’

‘Not
exactly.’

‘Oh,’
he muttered. ‘Strike one.’

They
drove on in silence for a while, watching the sky lighten to violet.

‘Not
from home.’

He
started. ‘You don’t have to...’

‘I
promised I would,’ she said. ‘I went to Scotland Yard yesterday.’

‘What,
your exchange review thing?’

‘Right.’

‘Didn’t
go OK?’

‘Sure,
great,’ she said bitterly. ‘I’m doing real well. Also the Met cop over in
Amsterdam. So now they extend the exchange for six months.’

‘Ah,’
Jeff said, suppressing his own selfish joy and relief with a pang of guilt.

‘I
was looking forward to be home for Christmas,’ Jasmin said sadly.

‘You
still can,’ he said. ‘Take time off.’

‘It’s
not the same. I must come back.’

A
traffic light glared red. Jeff stopped the car. ‘So where’s that leave you? In
practical terms?’

‘What
do you mean?’

‘I
mean like a place to stay. Still in that Arctic room of yours, aren’t you?’

A
sour expression crossed her face, like a reminder of an unpaid bill. ‘
Ja
. It’s getting a little warmer;
I was thinking maybe I can stick it out until December...’ She tailed off.

‘But
now you don’t know?’

Jasmin
shook her head.

‘Have
you told Kim?’

‘She
will just offer me a bunk down at her place, but I don’t want to impose. If I
tell her, she will insist.’

‘Kim’s
place is very nice.’

‘I
know. But she is all the way to Penge and I don’t have my own car. Also I need
my space.’

He
pondered. ‘Furnished flats,’ he suggested. The lights changed and he put his
foot down. ‘Self-contained. Look on Craigslist, the Gumtree. Might still have
to share a bathroom, but basically you’re your own boss.’ He smiled. ‘I could
help you look.’

‘OK,’
she smiled back, ‘but how do I pay for it?’

‘Do
some more overtime.’ He regretted the suggestion at once.

‘Overtime
is killing me.’ She didn’t need to tell him. ‘Look what happened the other
day.’

‘How
about another shared house? One where the heating works.’

‘Ach,
always there is something with shared houses. If not the heating, then
something else, like, the electric meter jams, or your housemates are crazy, or
they wish six months of rent in advance, or the landlord is a pervert. I might
as well move to a section house.’

‘Why
don’t you?’

‘You
need to get away from cops sometimes,’ she smiled. ‘No offence.’

‘None
taken.’

Too
soon, the journey was over. He turned to her. ‘Door to door. Can’t ask for
better service.’

‘I
can too,’ she retorted. ‘What about the driver escorts his passenger in?’

‘What,
in
, in, or
just to the door?’

‘Inside,
twit,’ she said, cuffing him none too gently. Her gruff facade dropped for a
moment. ‘Anyway, the room is cold and I don’t want to be alone yet.’

Jeff
killed the engine and applied the handbrake. ‘“Lead on, Macduff.”’

‘Huh?’

‘Oh,
come on. They do have Shakespeare in Holland.’

They
got out of the car.

‘I
don’t know this Macduff,’ Jasmin said.

‘The
Scottish play.’

‘Huh?’

‘Never
mind.’

In
the darkened hall she groped behind the door until she found the old bicycle
lamp the inhabitants used as a torch during the frequent spates of electrical
failure that affected parts, or all, of the house. By its guiding light she led
the way upstairs. On the landing they stopped outside a door. ‘Hold that,’ she
said, passing him the lamp. She inserted her key in the lock. The door was
stuck in the jamb. She shoulder-charged it open, stepped aside and stood by for
him to enter.

He’d
been in Jasmin’s room before, but never on his own. The previous occasion had
been following a cinema trip with Kim and Brian Hunt. Afterwards they’d all
come back here for pizza and cards. Now, without all the people, it was easy to
see why she wore herself out with long hours at work. No-one in their right
mind would spend time here willingly, except to sleep. Last time he’d not
realised how cold, dingy and plain inhospitable the room was, despite the brave
effort she’d made to brighten it up. The brown paint on the skirting boards and
the window frame was cracked and peeling. Mould crept carcinogenously up the once
rich cream-coloured wallpaper, which adhered to the damp-sodden walls in a way
that suggested it only stayed there out of a misplaced sense of loyalty. It
lent a pervasive musty odour to the room which Jasmin had tried to counter by
deploying a couple of reed diffusers on the mantelpiece. The furniture
consisted of a bed, a small, flimsy dressing table, a chair that didn’t match,
and a deal wardrobe with a hinge missing. Jasmin could have fixed this herself,
but where, frankly, was the motivation? Fix one thing, and there would still be
another, and another. For a temporary base she spent as little time in as
possible, it wasn’t worth the effort. Yet this one room, together with an
equally soul-destroying, unheated bathroom and kitchen shared with three other
tenants, looked like being Jasmin Winter’s home address for the next year.