Читать книгу: «The Angel: A shocking new thriller – read if you dare!», страница 4
‘You’re in with Jason?’
‘Yeah,’ Gabriel said, still struggling to find his voice.
‘If I were you, I’d stay out of his way.’
‘Is he dangerous?’ Gabriel tried to sound calm, knowing full well that tonight he would be locked in a room with Jason for a very long time.
‘No, but he is stupid,’ Sol whispered as he nodded hello to one of the other inmates, a young man with a ginger beard and a crew cut. Gabriel watched as the man’s eyes travelled up his body. He shivered involuntarily.
‘Stupid?’
‘Never borrow and never lend. Rule one. Especially if you don’t have permission. When all you have in the world is twenty things, suddenly those twenty things take on a whole new importance. Jason took something of importance to someone. He’s going to get a kicking and you probably shouldn’t be there when it happens.’
‘Shouldn’t you tell the guards?’
‘Rule two: don’t tell the guards anything. Not many people in here get treated worse than a grass.’
‘Gotcha.’
‘If you see something happening then leave, that’s my advice,’ Sol said. ‘It’s hard but in here you have to look out for yourself. That’s what everyone else is doing.’
Gabriel stared into the cottage pie on his tray. The mashed potato was white and shiny, with beads of liquid on the surface as though it had been sweating. It was watery and soft. There was an orange tinge to the mince that looked both unnatural and unappetising. He scooped some of the mixture onto his spoon; it was mushy but also unwilling to separate as he pulled the spoon away. The mashed potato hung like mucus as he moved it towards his lips. He was so hungry, he put the food in his mouth; it was warm but not hot. He tried to imagine each mouthful as though it were something else entirely, which got more difficult as it got colder. It sank to the bottom of his stomach like sand. Without warning, Gabriel gagged and the horrible potato decided to come back out; he rushed to the bin in the corner of the servery and threw up. He heard laughter and looked up to see the men on the table opposite were watching him. One of them was the young ginger man. His eyes were burning into Gabriel. Suddenly, he wasn’t hungry anymore.
Roll call.
Gabriel walked back to his cell and stood in position outside the door. Jason was nowhere to be seen.
‘Cole!’ the prison officer said for the fourth time, this time looking up in Gabriel’s direction. Gabriel’s discomfort was magnified as three other screws walked briskly towards him. Everyone was looking. Gabriel felt the colour draining from his face. He tried to look tall, not vulnerable. He tilted his chin back and stood up straight, shoulders back. It was the kind of stance he would have used in a club as he surveyed the room, everyone trying to look more badass than anyone else.
Gabriel looked at the names of the officers. Marcus Hyde, Kyle Johnson and Steve Barratt.
‘Where’s Jason?’ Barratt asked.
‘I don’t know.’ Gabriel answered. Eighty-two words.
‘You don’t know? When was the last time you saw him?’ Hyde barked at him, just inches away from Gabriel’s face. Gabriel was taller and it felt strange having this smaller man shouting at him. He hated having to ignore it, to take the anger. It went against everything he was. He wasn’t violent, but he was proud. Although he had no reason to be proud anymore.
‘In the cell. Before dinner.’
‘We’re going to need a little more information than that,’ Hyde pushed.
‘When I woke up I went to dinner, he wasn’t there when I left or when I came back.’
‘Is that true?’ Barratt stepped in, clearly playing good cop to Hyde’s aggression.
‘I swear.’
‘Lockdown!’ Hyde shouted, his voice reverberating through the wing. The prisoners groaned and moved back into their cells. From what Gabriel could tell, this seemed like something that happened quite often.
Hyde left the room and Barratt seemed to be waiting until he was out of earshot before he spoke to Gabriel again.
‘If you had nothing to do with this I suggest you keep your nose out of it,’ Barratt whispered.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean Jason upset the wrong people and those people are not going to get caught.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘Because you’re new. We see a lot of the same faces in here over and over again. I’ve never seen you before so I guess that means maybe you aren’t such a bad guy. Keep your nose clean and your time in here will go a lot faster.’
‘Keep my nose clean how?’
‘Just don’t get mixed up with the wrong people. Keep yourself to yourself. Use your nous.’
‘What’s happened to Jason?’
‘We’ll probably find him pretty soon, beaten up if we’re lucky, dead if we’re not.’
‘If you’re lucky?’
‘You cannot imagine the bureaucratic nightmare of finding a dead inmate.’ He walked to the door and pulled it closed with a final warning before he locked it. ‘Keep your head down.’
Barratt left. Gabriel walked over to the door and looked out of the strip of vertical glass to see what was going on. There was a distinct lack of panic on the wing. Everything was routine. Everyone sat patiently in their rooms, the prison officers checking each cell individually before closing it and locking the occupants in. It was barely 7 p.m. and they were done for the night.
Gabriel was torn between relief that he was alone and a concern that something terrible had happened to his cellmate. He watched as two officers ran past his door; they had obviously found something. He saw nothing except the faces of his fellow inmates, pressed up against the glass of their own doors, also trying to find out what was going on. Resignedly, Gabriel took a book from on top of Jason’s cupboard. He had a feeling his cellmate wouldn’t be needing it tonight.
Chapter 5
Adrian was watching DI Fraser speaking to their new DCI. Jonathan Fraser seemed visibly relieved at the fact that he was no longer acting DCI, as he was better suited to taking orders than giving them, and everyone knew it, himself included. DCI Mira Kapoor was a completely new face, brought in to battle the ongoing allegations of corruption within Exeter Police. She was a PR wet dream for the district with her exemplary record and connections in the press. Fraser signalled for Adrian to come over.
‘DI Fraser speaks very highly of you,’ DCI Kapoor said as she shook Adrian’s hand.
‘Ma’am.’
‘Looking forward to working with you, DS Miles,’ she said as she let go of his hand.
‘Thank you.’
‘DS Miles is investigating the fire down at the signal box four nights ago,’ Fraser said. ‘They’re trying to identify the body.’
‘Any luck?’
‘No missing persons, we asked around the homeless community.’ Adrian sighed. ‘If someone is missing, no one has noticed yet. As you can imagine, it’s proving very difficult.’
‘What do the forensics say?’
‘No DNA, it seems the floor collapsed onto the burning body and the damage sustained to both the skull and the rest of the body means we can’t get a match on dental records either. We really don’t have much to go on.’
‘Well, keep going. We’re being watched.’ She bowed slightly and nodded towards the desk sergeant, Denise Ferguson, who was standing next to Adrian’s desk, pointing him out to a young woman with a pea-green satchel who was standing next to her. ‘Excuse me.’
Both Adrian and Fraser watched DCI Kapoor walk away. Adrian couldn’t help wondering if she was on the level; he had learned the hard way that power and corruption go hand in hand. She was from outside the county which was a promising start. He was at least a little hopeful that she wasn’t being controlled by Dominic, who seemed to have his hands on everybody’s strings.
‘She seems nice?’ Fraser said, his voice getting higher at the end. A hint of optimism in the form of a question, as though it were more of a request than a statement. At least Adrian wasn’t the only one who was concerned.
Adrian rolled his eyes and headed back towards his desk. He knew better than to be optimistic, anything could happen and he wasn’t about to put his trust in anyone just yet. Not after everything they had been through; he would be an idiot if he did.
Denise Ferguson smiled as he approached, as did the woman with the green bag. But hers wasn’t a friendly smile, it was a knowing smile and it immediately made him suspicious.
‘The DCI has asked that you take care of this young lady, Adrian. She’s a freelance journalist doing a piece on the dangers posed to the escalating numbers of homeless people in Exeter. Wants to know about the identification of the man in the fire.’
‘What?’ Adrian looked back and the DCI smiled at him; he was missing having Fraser as his boss already.
‘Play nice.’ Denise smiled before tottering off back to her desk.
‘DS Miles, nice to meet you.’ He held out his hand to the young woman. She stared at him for a few seconds too long. He hated journalists but he knew the department had a lot of damage to repair, damage which he felt at least partially responsible for. He would play along for now, until he figured her out.
‘Lucy Hannigan. Nice to meet you too.’ She ignored the gesture and sat down. Adrian detected a tone to her voice that was bordering on sarcasm. He dismissed it as paranoia and his general mistrust of the press. ‘I wasn’t even sure anyone would be investigating this man’s death,’ she continued. ‘Presumably it was a man.’
Adrian pulled out the pictures of the fire and placed them on the desk in front of her.
‘That’s about all we know for sure at this point. The building having collapsed on him hasn’t helped at all.’
‘Is it just you working on this?’
‘Me and my partner, DS Grey.’
‘I think I read that she got shot last year. Is that right?’
‘It is. Good memory.’ He wasn’t about to elaborate if that’s what she wanted, he wasn’t going to give her any more fuel for her fire; this was about containment and nothing else.
‘Oh yeah. I have a great memory.’ There was that tone again.
‘Well, when my partner arrives we’ll be heading down to the food bank to see if they have any knowledge of anyone that might be missing. So far, it’s a bit of a mystery. We’re not even sure if it’s a homeless person, but it seems like the most likely scenario at this point.’
‘Good job you’re a detective then, isn’t it?’ She was definitely being weird with him.
‘Sorry, have we met before? You seem to have some kind of issue with me?’
‘No wonder they gave you a badge.’ She smiled.
Adrian could tell that he looked puzzled. She seemed to be amused by his confusion. He was racking his brain but he couldn’t place her. Which could only mean one thing. He concentrated for a second on her lips, curled ever so slightly into a smirk. There was something familiar about her … something intimate.
‘Did we …?’ He tailed off awkwardly.
‘Ironic really that I should get stuck with you now. I have to be honest, if you don’t even recognise me that casts some serious doubts over your ability to do your job.’
He saw her again in his mind, a fragment of a memory, her lying beneath him, his hands on her body, his mouth on her skin. It was still a little hazy.
‘What did I miss?’ Imogen slammed her bag on the table and bursting the tension.
‘Miss Hannigan is a freelance reporter,’ Adrian said, flushing red, grateful for Imogen’s interruption. ‘We’ve been asked to brief her on the body in the signal box.’
‘It’ll be a short briefing to be honest. We’re kind of stuck at the moment.’
‘So I hear.’ Lucy Hannigan reached into her bag and pulled out a business card. ‘This lady does a lot of charitable work with the homeless in the area, she might be able to help you out. I’ve written my number on the other side, in case you don’t have it already.’ She looked pointedly at Adrian. What was he missing?
She put the card on the table and stood up.
‘Thank you, we’ll check that out right away.’ Adrian picked the card up, looking at it to see if it sparked anything. He still couldn’t remember the exact circumstances under which he’d met Lucy; he knew it was a couple of years ago, and she looked completely different now. He hoped it came back to him before he bumped into her again.
‘I’ll be in touch. I’d like to follow the investigation. I don’t suppose there’s any chance I can get a copy of those pictures, is there?’
‘I’ll see what I can do. I’ll have to clear it with the DCI.’ Adrian said.
‘Thank you. Good seeing you again, Adrian.’ She was being sarcastic. Adrian’s face felt hot.
Adrian and Imogen watched her leave.
‘Do you know her?’ Imogen turned to him and asked, her eyebrows knotted in confusion.
‘I think I probably do.’ Adrian cringed. He changed the subject before she pushed any further. ‘Where have you been? You’re normally here first.’
‘I was talking to my mother. They’re in Crete at the moment.’
‘Is she well enough for that?’ Adrian sounded concerned.
Imogen sighed. ‘The doctor says rest is what she needs, it’s probably good that she’s in a different setting, having people wait on her hand and foot.’
‘Did you speak to Elias? Did he say how your mother was doing?’
Her parents were together in Crete; it was a strange thought. She had never known her father and suddenly almost thirty years later they were back together, a man whose name she hadn’t even known growing up. Her mother had always kept him a secret and she had accepted it, but because of his apparent involvement in a case she was working on, it had all come out earlier this year and now here he was. She hadn’t gotten used to the idea of having a father yet. Imogen had asked him if they could get to know each other slowly, but the truth was she didn’t want any part of it. She had managed this long without him. Her mother was finally reunited with the man she’d lost, but as far as Imogen was concerned, he was a stranger. Finally learning his identity had been a huge shock that she just wasn’t prepared for.
‘He’s making sure she’s taking all her medicine, their cabin is top of the line so she’s really comfortable.’ She paused and took a deep breath before speaking again. ‘When he comes back he wants me to meet his children, and grandchildren. They don’t know about me yet, he said he wanted to talk to me about it first but he doesn’t want any more secrets.’
‘Are you going to meet them?’
‘I’ve been an only child to a single parent my whole life, I’ve never known anything different. To go from that to having three younger brothers and a bunch of nieces and nephews … I don’t know if I’m ready for all that just yet.’
‘Then tell him to wait.’
She shook off some imaginary burden, jingled her car keys and started towards the exit. ‘Enough about my crap anyway, Miley. We should go see if there are any more cameras around the nightclub after we speak to this charity lady, see if we can work out who Gabriel Webb was with that night. The only camera they had in the club was pointed at the till and he always went to the bar alone.’
‘I don’t know why he just won’t tell us. Who is he protecting?’
‘A girlfriend of course.’
‘You sound very sure about that. Did his parents say anything? Do they know who he was going out with?’
‘No, they don’t really seem to know much about him at all. They don’t seem to care either,’ she said as she opened the door for Adrian. She had spoken to his father on the phone and his reaction to the arrest was almost a gloat, followed by a comment on how it might make him grow up eventually.
‘Well I know how that goes. My dad was only ever interested in drink and women. At least for the first half of my life, before he got into the harder stuff.’
‘I don’t think that’s Mr Webb’s problem.’
‘It’s all the same though, isn’t it? Selfishness. Since having Tom I can’t imagine it, I can’t imagine putting myself or my pride before him, ever. I don’t understand it.’
‘How does that poem go? “They fuck you up, your mum and dad …”’
‘Poetry was never really my thing.’
‘You surprise me.’ She raised her eyebrows before getting in the car. She thought about her own parents in relation to the poem, how all of their choices had impacted her life, made her who she was. Another line sprang to mind: Man hands on misery to man. Never a truer word was spoken.
Chapter 6
Imogen rang the doorbell to the STREETWIZE charity HQ, a disused clothing shop in Exeter’s Sidwell Street, next to a kebab shop Adrian had visited many times before after a drink in town. Adrian walked around the building and found a side door. He banged on it. They heard some movement, followed by the sight of a woman in a dressing gown opening the door. Her face was flushed red and her eyes were swollen and puffy. She coughed uncontrollably the moment she started to speak.
‘Hi, I’m DS Grey and this is DS Miles. Are you the lady that runs the STREETWIZE charity?’ Imogen asked when the woman had stopped.
‘I am. My name is Claire Morgan. Sorry, I’m just getting over the flu. Come in, but I’d keep my distance if I were you.’
They went inside, to a small living room with a two-seater sofa and a coffee table strewn with little balls of screwed-up tissues. There was a palpable taste of eucalyptus in the air where copious amounts of Vicks had obviously been applied. Imogen was hit by the sheer heat of the room. The lady pulled her dressing gown around her tighter, oblivious to the heat.
‘We’re investigating the fire in the signal box up at Central Station,’ Adrian said.
‘I saw that on the news. What’s it got to do with me?’
‘Well I don’t know if you saw, but we found the remains of a male in the room; we think he was seeking shelter from the rain in there. It seems quite probable that he was homeless,’ Imogen said.
Claire Morgan’s hand went up to her mouth and Imogen saw the clear look of distress in her eyes.
‘Do you know how many homeless there are in the city?’ Adrian asked.
‘I used to but the numbers are always growing. It’s getting a lot less … personal.’
‘Is anyone missing, to your knowledge?’
‘It’s hard to know when someone is missing,’ Claire said. ‘Sometimes people just want to be alone. Sometimes people move on, sometimes they get moved on. There can be a variety of factors why they wouldn’t be around anymore. Over the last few months I would say there’s a couple of people I haven’t seen in a long time. But there are new faces too. As you can imagine, it’s a very transient community.’
‘Do you keep records of the people who pass through your charity?’ Imogen asked.
‘No, I don’t. Some people are homeless by choice, and I think it’s only fair to respect that choice and respect their privacy.’
‘And what is it you do here exactly?’
‘People donate money and the money buys supplies for the homeless. So, if you wanted to donate thirty pounds, I would put together a pack of a sleeping bag, a thermal blanket and some protein bars or something like that. Then when people come in and ask for help, I can give that to them. It’s not much, but it’s all I can do.’
‘It’s a lot more than most people do.’ Imogen smiled at her, feeling guilty that she didn’t do more.
‘I was homeless myself once,’ Claire said. ‘Not through choice. I was lucky that people helped me and eventually I got myself back on track. Most people genuinely try not to think about it. It’s as if they think about it, it might happen to them – as if it’s somehow contagious. So they actively choose to ignore it.’
Imogen pulled out a card and handed it to the woman. ‘Please call us if you hear anything.’
‘I will.’ She smiled and paused as though she was thinking for a moment. ‘It’s good to see you’re taking it seriously.’
‘One more thing, if you don’t mind.’ Adrian stepped in. ‘Do you know of anyone who used to sleep in that signal box? Or have you heard of anyone who maybe hung out there?’
‘The only one I can think of is a man called Bricks,’ Claire said slowly. ‘But the last I heard he had been arrested and put in prison. He had some mental health issues – he tried to rob the post office last year. He’s spent his whole life in an out of the system in one way or another.’
‘You don’t happen to have a picture of him, do you?’
Claire frowned and shook her head. ‘No, I’m sorry, I don’t.’
‘OK, Claire, thank you for your time. We’ll see ourselves out,’ Imogen said, not wanting to make the poor woman stand up again.
‘Feel better,’ Miles said as they pulled the door closed.
Imogen was glad to be outside again, out of Claire Morgan’s house which seemed to be an incubator of sorts, the air so hot and thick you could feel yourself getting sicker with every passing moment. She breathed in heartily, ignoring the myriad of smells coming from the industrial wheelie bins in the alley adjacent to the charity.
‘Never thought I would be grateful for the smell of old kebabs.’
‘Come on, a nice doner with a big salad and chilli tomato sauce is one of your five a day!’
‘You disgust me.’ She smiled and walked on ahead.
