Blood Money Part 10

"Happy Families." She sighed. "What a joke. I only went to see her because she said it'd look bad if I wasn't there. Diana and I don't get on, we have zilch in common and now daddy's dead... I don't have to pretend any more." Tears glistened on her cheeks and though she was shaking her voice was steady. "I'm OK. Carry on."

"Were your parents happy, Miss Masters?" Mac voiced the question that was on the tip of Bev's tongue.

"From what I could see they adored each other." Did the couple only have eyes for each other? Was that why Charlotte flew the nest when she was so young? Was she jealous of her mother? Bev filed more thoughts as Mac showed the girl photographs of the other burglary victims. Even from the extensive media coverage, Charlotte didn't recognise the women. "I'm sorry. I'd help if I could." Releasing the ponytail, she ran both hands through lank tresses then re-tied it even tighter. Subliminal message? Get out of my hair.

Bev settled back in the chair, crossed her legs. The interview lasted a further twenty minutes went nowhere. Frustration wasn't in it. She'd known cases where one inspired line of questioning had led to the breakthrough; this had been a series of dead ends. Signalling a wrap to Mac, she rose, reached for a card in her bag. "If anything comes to mind call me. Any time."

At the door, she glanced back, gave an ostentatious sniff. "Good turns and all that..."

19.

Google honour killings UK, and you get over four hundred thousand hits in 0.29 seconds. Slice of quattro formaggio pizza in one hand, can of Red Bull pending, Bev was tapping into some of the more credible posts. After the Charlotte Masters interview, she'd dropped Mac at the Prince, managed a pit stop for food and air freshener at Sainsbury, and was now taking a crash course in a subject she knew too little about. To have any chance of connecting with Fareeda she needed at least an idea where the girl was coming from. She sniffed. Probably overdone the air spray; office smelt like a cheesy pine forest. Better than cow heart though. Taking a slug of Red Bull, she glanced at the clock on the monitor. Ten minutes before Sumi was due best make the most of it.

Elbow on desk, chin in hand she focused on the current screen. The Independent article should be pukka given its source. According to ACPO, the a.s.sociation of chief police officers, seventeen thousand women a year were subjected to honour related violence. And they were talking iceberg tips. Bev took another slug, tossed the fringe from her eyes, hit another link. Young women with Pakistani, Indian and Banglades.h.i.+ backgrounds were three times more likely to kill themselves than the national average. Then another link. Victims of violence are likely to suffer thirty-five attacks before reporting to the authorities. And yet another. Police estimate there could be up to twelve honour killings a year in the UK. And the hits kept coming...

She blew her cheeks out on a sigh, rolled back the chair, drained the can. Stats and facts; people and pain. The figures didn't tell a fraction of the real story, didn't show livid bruises, shattered bones, broken spirits. Or dead bodies. Closing her eyes, she recalled a Met inquiry she'd been on the periphery of a few years back. A young Kurdish-born woman raped and strangled, body crammed in a suitcase, driven to Birmingham for burial. In a Handsworth back garden. Killing ordered by her own father. Why? She'd walked out on an arranged marriage, fallen in love with another man. Bev sniffed. So why'd all the reports carry quote marks round the phrase, honour killing? Like there was any doubt. The cops hadn't exactly covered themselves with glory either. Bev could still see the grainy mobile phone footage of the victim warning police she was in danger. The media had dubbed the video evidence from beyond the grave. Much f.u.c.king good it did the victim. Bev's fingers crushed the can. G.o.d, she needed a smoke. If Sumi didn't show soon, she might nip...

Or not. There was a tentative tap on the door. It certainly wasn't Mac.

"Sorry I'm late, sarge," Sumi said. "I couldn't get away." The young DC had been fielding calls in the squad room, the lines were going crazy.

"No prob." Bev was the same, couldn't resist a ringing phone. Never knew if it was the big one, the witness with the case-cracker. Daft to think cutting edge detection and forensics skills solved every crime, the majority of success was down to intelligence from the public. Not that it was all quality gen. "Anything earth shattering?" Bev offered a slice of pizza, tried not to notice there were only two left, she'd bought the family size.

"Not for me thanks." Sumi smiled. "As to earth shattering you know what it's like after a media appeal."

"Sure do." Loony tune central. Byford had apparently done turns that afternoon for local telly and radio, the Park View footage had also received a few airings. Bev frowned. Come to think of it, the local rag's claws had been sheathed lately. She reckoned Toby Priest's cop-out poll must've gone in the guv's favour or it would've been plastered all over the front page.

"People mean well mostly, but..." Sumi held out empty palms.

Did they? Bev wished she had Sumi's faith. Or maybe not. Given her recent reading matter. She opened her mouth to get down to Fareeda business, but Sumi hadn't finished.

"Have you heard about Byford?" He'd decided to go ahead with Crimewatch, announced it at the late brief apparently, and according to Sumi it was about the only positive step that had emerged. Bev turned her mouth down. Not sure she'd describe network exposure as a move forward. "Hey sarge, do you think...?"

She thought Sumi was stalling. "Enough already. What're we going to do?" No need to clarify. Sumi knew the situation as well as if not better than Bev.

The animation dropped from Sumi's features. Bev noticed feathery lines at the edges of her fine eyes. "I wish I knew, sarge."

"It's Bev, OK?" She rose, walked round, perched on a corner of the desk, closing the gap between them. "And course you know, Sumi. It needs reporting."

"What does?" Her voice rose, she straightened, crossed her legs. "She won't even tell me what 'it' is?"

Secrets and lies; fear and despair. Bev held the other woman's gaze. "She didn't walk into a door, Sumi. Whoever did it will likely do it again. Prob'ly worse next time." What was it she'd just read? Victims are likely to suffer thirty-five attacks before... "This isn't the first time, is it?"

Sumi bit her lip. Bev winced at the teeth marks. She clenched a fist. Unfair maybe but she saw these walls of silent protection as complacent complicity. Sumi was a cop, westernised, but under the skin...

"I think it may have happened before." She dropped her head. "She just won't talk about it." Sumi had phoned her cousin four or five times during the day, tried getting Fareeda to open up. The girl wouldn't even say why let alone who. Bev sighed in sorrow and anger. After the net search, she knew vicious beatings could be down to something as innocuous as a girl taking off her scarf in the street, wearing hair gel, having an unknown number on her mobile.

"Tell me about Fareeda. What does she do, what's she like?" Sumi relaxed slightly. Fareeda was shy, quiet, bright, an A-star science student, into music, reading and TV. "You know, sarge, usual teenage things." Sumi gave a tired smile. Bev didn't return it, she'd learned squat. "Beatings aren't the norm, Sumi." And she'd uttered not one word about Fareeda's family set-up. The girl was Muslim: it struck Bev this was all about family. She pushed herself off the desk, paced the office. "You had a word with the parents yet?" Fareeda was old enough to leave home, but somehow Bev didn't think that would cut much ice with mum and dad. And the age of consent wasn't why she'd asked. She suspected the father was implicated in the attack. Why not come out and say so instead of p.u.s.s.y-footing round what Bev saw as the women's misplaced sensibilities?

Sumi shook her head. "I phoned to tell them she's OK, safe, but she's begged me not to make contact again." She looked down at her hands. "She doesn't want to go back." Inadvertently she'd said it all.

"Where'd they live?"

Eyes wide, Sumi hesitated. Made no diff. Bev had already done a bit of homework, knew Fareeda had four brothers and the family lived in Small Heath. Sumi knew how easy it was to get hold of information. She gave Bev the address. "Don't go round, sarge. It'll make it worse if you get involved."

If? "Fareeda's holed up in my spare room, Sumi." And how much worse could it get?

"She needs a bit of s.p.a.ce so she can get her head together." Sumi held out her palms. "Just a few more days where she feels safe. Please, sarge?"

Maybe it was the stink of air freshener that brought it back: the unwanted gift on her doorstep. s.h.i.+t. "Sumi." She aimed for casual. "Last night? When you and Fareeda came over to my place? Is it possible you were followed?"

Sumi hadn't been aware of a tail, but neither had she been checking a.s.siduously. Fareeda had texted the previous evening begging for help. Sumi had driven to Small Heath and collected her cousin from a bus shelter several streets from the family home. They'd motored round aimlessly for twenty minutes or so before heading for Bev's. This was some of what Sumi shared with Bev before they left Highgate at a rate of knots in separate cars.

G.o.d knew what went through Sumi's mind, but Bev's unease increased en route. Before hitting the road, they'd called her landline and Fareeda's mobile several times, no one had picked up.

"Come on, come on." Bev tapped the wheel. Seemed every sodding light was against them, and dense fog was no help. She flicked on the wipers again, rubbed the windscreen with a sleeve. The smear reduced visibility even further. Nice one, Bev.

She'd not seen the possible Saleem connection either. Outside chance maybe, but it was there: the dumped heart could be down to one of Fareeda's relatives. A warning to Bev to back off. That could mean a clear and present danger. She'd not given the thought house room when she'd compiled her list of likely suspects. Quite a few of the crims she'd nicked had featured Neanderthals who grunted predictable watch-your-back warnings from the dock. Even Dorkboy had made the cut on the basis their run-in was recent, more than that, he'd lost face with his crew. Briefly she'd considered the Sandman, but only because he already occupied so much of her heads.p.a.ce. If any cop was in the Sandman's sights, Byford had the big media profile.

A guy ran across the road just as the lights changed. Cutting it fine or what? She muttered w.a.n.ker under her breath. Actually going on the gait and natty gear, he looked vaguely familiar. Driving away, she clocked him in the mirror. Yep. Jagger lips. Mick, was it? Rick? She knew he lived off Moseley's main drag; it's where they'd ended up that night. She'd had no duvet action since. Cop's life was a great contraceptive.

Baldwin Street was just up ahead. Sumi was right behind. Bev indicated left, scanned both sides of the road. She was locking the Polo when Sumi pulled up in an unmarked Astra. It was just after eight. The house was in darkness.

20.

Sam Tate stared into the small oval mirror and toyed with the idea of giving the Sandman a little fun. Up-lit in the beam of a torch, his benignly smiling alter ego seemed to concur with the notion. Tate wouldn't have believed it possible but, disembodied and cast in monochrome shadows, the clown mask was even scarier. Good. Tate c.o.c.ked his head, expanded his chest, liked what he saw.

Inexplicably, an old Beatles song leapt to mind I am the Walrus. In his head, he changed the lyric to Sandman. It appealed more to his already inflated ego. The media had bestowed the t.i.tle, but he liked it, got a thrill seeing it on billboards, hearing it on the radio. The Sandman had something of the dark about it. And not the Michael Howard variety. He sn.i.g.g.e.red under the mask. m.u.f.fled, the malevolent sound spooked the rich b.i.t.c.hes even more. That's why he did it. Look at this one: eyes like dinner plates, trembling so much the bed was shaking, wheezing like an old biddy on forty-a-day. Fully aware of the effect his eyes had, he met her terrified gaze in the gla.s.s, then drifted towards her, loomed in so close he felt her warm breath through the slits. A pitiful moan escaped as she tried to move her face. "Please... please... don't."

"Shut it," he snapped. "I won't tell you again."

Biting down on her lip, she nodded compulsively. He skimmed the Maglite over her body, made sure it lingered on the pert b.o.o.bs, the slight swell of her belly and the pubic now public arena. Spread-eagled, her thighs were open to the slow stroke of the torch. He broke out in a sweat, felt the stir of a hard-on. Naked and tethered she was at his mercy. He could do whatever he fancied and no doubt about it, Libby Redwood was a looker. Not like the crones Dee usually picked. Face it, he'd be doing the poor cow a favour. Sure looked as if she needed loosening up a bit. He pinched her nipple with gloved fingers. Stupid tart flinched. Next time he used the knife. He narrowed his eyes. Surely, a quickie would do no harm? The rucksack was already packed with rich pickings. He'd be in and out in no time. Another inane sn.i.g.g.e.r. Or maybe not. If Dee found out she'd kill him. On the other hand... if no one was left to spill the beans. He played the beam on the blade of the knife.

"Don't hurt me," she whimpered. "Please don't hurt me..."

Witch must be a mind reader. Carefully, he laid the weapon on the bedside table, the ostensibly merciful gesture apparently underlining the clown's larger-than-life smile. For ten, fifteen seconds he stared down at her then: "Me, me, me." Each mocking word punctuated by a stinging backhanded slap. The woman's face was screwed in fear, tears flowed down blood-drained cheeks. Beneath the mask Tate's fine features were set in ugly contempt. Was it worth the ha.s.sle? Nah. He couldn't be a.r.s.ed. With the endgame in sight he wouldn't want to screw up.

Bev hit the light switch. A quick scan through narrowed eyes revealed nothing out of place, n.o.body in situ. Quiet though. She c.o.c.ked her head; the house had an empty feel. She chucked keys and bag on the hall table, shucked out of her coat. "I'll take a look upstairs."

Sumi nodded, didn't need telling to take the ground. Bev entered the bathroom first. Pristine. Not so much as a hair in the sink. d.a.m.n sight tidier than normal. Same story in the spare room, hardly a sign Fareeda had slept there. Bev registered a hike in her heartbeat, tingle in the palms. Unwanted images flashed in her head, other searches she'd taken part in leading to skeletal remains, decomposing flesh, bloated bodies. For G.o.d's sake. Get a grip.

She checked the wardrobe, bed, drawers, nosing round for any sign of life. It was tucked away at the back of the bottom drawer. "Well, well, well." A pregnancy tester. She recognised the brand immediately, had chosen it herself what seemed a lifetime ago, two lifetimes ago. Briefly she closed her eyes, banished more uneasy thoughts, concentrated on the implications for Fareeda's present and future. The girl certainly wasn't running the kit in for a friend. So much for Sumi's blind faith in her cousin's non-existent s.e.x life.

Sumi's scream put complex thoughts on hold. Bev dropped the pack back in the drawer, took the stairs three at a time. Shaking and terrified Fareeda leant against the hall wall, clinging to Sumi. Stroking the girl's hair, Sumi said she'd found her hiding in the cupboard under the stairs. Crouched in the far corner, she'd been peering out from behind a mountain of empty boxes, DIY gear and discarded furniture. Toss up who got the biggest shock. Sumi was calmer now, her relief almost palpable. Fareeda looked fragile, bowed if not broken.

"Get her settled, Sumi." Bev nodded towards the sitting room. "I'll fix a drink."

A sense of deja vu accompanied Bev to the kitchen. It didn't seem five minutes since they'd first gone through this routine. Slight deviation now though, after filling the kettle she opened the fridge, poured a generous Pinot Grigio, sank it before the tea was brewed.

Sumi and Fareeda were huddled together on the sofa. Sumi's arm lay protectively round her cousin's shoulder. Bev b.u.mmed the door to. "Here you go." Along with Pinot, the tray held two mugs and a pack of digestives. She slipped it on to the coffee table then sat cross-legged on the floor opposite her houseguests. Waiting for enlightenment she took a sip of wine, then another. Neither woman met her glance. She was half tempted to see how long the silence would stretch, but the genial host was morphing into Basil Fawlty: knackered, rattled and p.i.s.sed off. It had been a long day and she was running out of sympathy for a girl who it seemed to Bev wouldn't lift a finger to help herself.

"You gonna sit there all night or maybe tell me what happened?" Something had obviously spooked Fareeda. Unless she'd been playing hide and seek. On her own.

"Sorry. I'm still a bit shaky." Fareeda's bangles slipped and jangled as she blew her nose, wiped her eyes on a tissue. "Someone broke in."

Bev stiffened. "Someone's been in the house?" Was the b.a.s.t.a.r.d still here? Fired, she sprang up, fists balled, ready to take off in pursuit.

"He's gone." Fareeda raised a palm. "I heard him leave."

"Why were you still in the cupboard then?" Sumi posed the question a d.a.m.n sight more gently than Bev had been about to.

Curtains of hair concealed her face as she dropped her head. "I was scared in case he came back."

Adrenalin falling, Bev dropped to the floor again. "From the beginning, Fareeda. Now."

Shredding the tissue in her lap, the girl told them there'd been a knock on the door. She'd looked through the landing window saw a man on the step. She watched him take something from his pocket, then heard what she thought was the sound of a key in the lock. Panic set in at that point. Without thinking, she ran to the cupboard, shut herself in. "He went straight upstairs, I heard his tread above my head, I was so scared I could hardly breathe. Any minute I thought..." The voice broke, but her gaze was steady, her eyes brimmed with unshed tears and pleaded for Bev's a.s.surance, understanding, whatever.

In Bev's head, fury vied with sympathy. Getting involved in Fareeda's messy life had inadvertently led an intruder into her own. Unwittingly she thought of the Sandman's victims. Beth, Sheila, Donna, Faith, Diana. Imagine the horror they'd gone through. Tonight was a breeze by comparison. But this wasn't down to the Sandman. Both the timing and Fareeda's att.i.tude had convinced Bev that this was the Saleems' baby. She fought to keep her voice level. "Don't p.i.s.s me about, Fareeda. Who was it?"

Bev sensed Sumi's shocked gaze but kept her own glare on Fareeda. The girl straightened, bristling. "How the h.e.l.l do I know? I've never seen him before in my life. I told you, I panicked. I ran. I wanted to get away. I wasn't thinking straight."

Bev stared at the girl's beautiful damaged face. Fareeda was more than capable of lying through her missing teeth. The pack upstairs was proof positive of that. A protective wall of silence appeared to be part of the family structure. She toyed briefly with asking how far gone the girl was, decided the question would likely get a more productive response when big cousin Sumi wasn't around. Blurting it out would destroy what if any trust Fareeda had in Bev, showing discretion might make it easier to bond when they had a one-to-one chat. Keeping mum? Bev curled her lip. c.r.a.p expression.

Bev's face was an open book; Fareeda had clearly read the scepticism. "Honest, Bev, the man was nothing to do with me. I should've realised before but..."

She raised a palm. "Yeah, yeah, you weren't thinking straight. So now you are?"

"The man was white, mid-twenties, thirties? I'm not good with ages." Her rueful smile wasn't returned. "He was dark-haired but definitely not someone in my circle. There's no way..." Eyes wide, she clammed up, aware she was in danger of giving away too much. Bev could easily fill in the blanks: there's no way my family would hire a heavy who wasn't Asian. a.s.suming Fareeda wasn't lying about the guy's colour. Maybe Sumi was thinking along the same lines. She turned Fareeda to face her.

"If you know the man, Fareeda now's the time to say so. We can't help if you don't give us the full picture."

"I'm telling the truth." She folded her arms, truculent. "Why would I make it up?"

Bev took a mouthful of wine, rolled it round her tongue. It still seemed a h.e.l.l of a coincidence: within hours of the girl's arrival, animal matter had been left on the doorstep and an intruder had broken in. Or not? She almost choked on the wine. What was it Fareeda had said about a key in the lock?

Drink spilled as she slammed down the gla.s.s, dashed into the hall. Were the scratches round the lock fresh or normal wear and tear? Bev rubbed her chin, heard the sound of more jumping conclusions. Despite what Fareeda said, it didn't necessarily figure the guy had a key; the lock could've been picked. Either way she made a mental note to call her friendly neighbourhood locksmith first thing. Wouldn't be the first time. She ought to ask for a discount. Deep in thought she stepped out, scanned the street in both directions. Nada. Natch. Even the fog had lifted.

She closed the door, leaned against it for a while still thinking things through: the cow heart and tonight's break-in could be connected with Fareeda, but not the damaged MG, the early hours hang-ups. She narrowed her eyes, her gaze fixed on the stairs. The earlier search had been incomplete. Hand on banister she headed for her bedroom.

21.

It took fifteen, twenty seconds for Diana Masters to pinpoint the sound. Being roused from a deep sleep didn't help her disorientation and the ring tone was unfamiliar, the phone had never been used before. She groaned when she registered the time. The clock's glowing green digits showed 02.17. Jesus this had better be worth it. Her fingers scrabbled on the bedside table, as she homed in on the mobile. It was a recently acquired pay-as-you-go, and the number was known to only one other person.

"Sam?" Sleepy, still confused, she ran a hand through her hair.

"Diana, we have a problem."

She bolted upright, instantly alert, goose b.u.mps not entirely down to the temperature. "What do you mean a problem?" It was nothing trivial. His tone told her that, and he rarely called her Diana.

"Someone saw me leaving the Redwood place tonight." She heard him swallow, detected incipient panic in his voice.

"Someone saw you?" Incredulous. Concealing her censure was a huge effort. She swung her legs out of bed, paced the room, thoughts swirling none of them good. She waited for Sam to elaborate, not willing to make it easier for him, not keen to learn more, knowing ignorance wasn't an option.

"It's worse. He recognised me."

Her legs almost gave way, she sank on to the edge of the bed. "But the mask?"

"He followed, watched me take it off." His voice cracked. She sensed he was on the verge of tears. Tough. His stupidity bordered on criminal negligence. Criminal! Christ. That would be funny if they weren't neck-deep in ordure.

"How the h.e.l.l did you manage that, Sam?" Cold, clipped, mentally clutching for even the shortest damage-limitation straw.

"I'm sorry, babe. I didn't see anyone around. I thought I was in the clear."

"Thought?" Had she badly misjudged the guy? They were supposed to be equal partners. OK, she was older and had the intellectual edge, but he was sharp, a quick learner and they shared the same dream and drive to realise it. Not drive. Ruthlessness. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, surprised how good she looked given how s.h.i.+t she felt. Not that it gave her any pleasure. Not with Sam whingeing on like a wuss. She recalled the last time he'd been here, preening in front of the same mirror, t.i.tillating her with the same b.l.o.o.d.y mask. She tapped a finger against her lips. Please let this flaky state be a temporary aberration. If he went to pieces they'd be well and truly f.u.c.ked. She took a calming breath, injected warmth she didn't currently feel into her voice. "Come on, Sammy, we can work it out."

"There's more." Another swallow. "He's been on the phone. He wants a cut."

Blackmail. Her scalp p.r.i.c.ked. Thank G.o.d for that. It meant the greedy oik wouldn't go running to the cops. "A cut?" She stroked her slender neck, gave a lazy smile. "I'm sure we can manage that."

"Diana. He's not talking peanuts." She knew Sam well enough to suspect he was holding something back. And he wouldn't be saving the best till last. "He knows about us." Diana closed her eyes: could it get any worse? "He wants you to make the drop. He knows how much your old man was worth. He wants half a million."

She snorted. Like that was going to happen. Then frowned. They'd been so careful. Who could have found out? And how? And what the h.e.l.l were they going to do? G.o.d, she needed time and s.p.a.ce to think this through. Sam wasn't going to come up with an answer. She had to be strong, or Sam would fall apart. They'd come a long way, they were on the home stretch and she'd be d.a.m.ned if some b.a.s.t.a.r.d was going to stop them reaching the finis.h.i.+ng line. Feline eyes narrowed as she worked on the seed of an idea. It would need a lot of nurturing but there was too much at stake not to give it their best shot.

"Darling." There was a teasing smile in the endearment. "When I say cut... I'm not necessarily talking cash. After all, the Sandman's a dab hand with a knife... is he not, Sammy?"

When she ended the call ten minutes later he sounded calmer, which was lucky. Until the blackmailer made contact again, it was a waiting game and they'd need nerves of steel. Duplicity and cunning they already had in spades. She'd told Sam to drop by tomorrow. She knew a guaranteed way to help him unwind. Diana lay back on the bed, reached out a hand to switch off the light. It would be OK. And she'd missed enough beauty sleep for one night.

It wasn't exactly hidden, but Bev missed it during her increasingly tetchy sweep of the bedroom. Maybe she'd been expecting something bold and in-your-face, given whoever it was had taken a h.e.l.l of a risk coming here. Who'd the b.a.s.t.a.r.d think he was? How dare he invade her s.p.a.ce? Hot and dusty after crawling under the bed, her temperature as well as her temper was rising. She was at the bedroom door, unclenching a fist so she could switch off the light when she spotted it: a new item on the summer holidays cheesy tat shelf.

Eyes creased, she walked towards the far wall where she kept her tacky knick knacks. Her mate Frankie had a collection, too. They'd been ama.s.sing the gross and garish since they were kids, trawling tourist dives from Blackpool to Benidorm seeing who could bring back the winning gewgaw. Harmless fun, teenage kicks the egg-timer was an impostor, though. And had a sting in the tail.