A DCI Anna Tate Crime Thriller

CHAPTER TWELVE

Anna read out Holly’s address from her notes and told Walker to drive straight there.

‘This is likely to be an all-nighter,’ she said. ‘Do you need to let your wife know?’

‘I sent her a text before we left the office,’ he answered. ‘It was obvious to me then that I wouldn’t get to see my bed tonight.’

She passed on what DS Prescott had told her, then called DCS Nash, who answered on the first ring.

‘How did it go with Rebecca Blake?’ he asked her.

Anna told him how Holly’s mother had reacted, and how she had gone on to put Nathan Wolf, MP in the frame.

Nash’s reaction was predictable. ‘Jesus Christ, Anna. This is going from bad to worse.’

‘My thoughts exactly, sir,’ she said.

‘And do you think it could actually be true?’

‘It’s too early to say. We need to check with the newspaper that was about to dish the dirt on him. And then we’ll go and confront the man with the allegations. Have you got any thoughts on how it should be handled?’

‘Just don’t approach him until I get back to you,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to talk to the Commissioner, make sure he’s in the picture before the news breaks.’

‘Well, our next step is Holly Blake’s flat in Camden,’ Anna said. ‘The team have already come up with something interesting there apparently. But I don’t want to wait too long before we confront Wolf. If he is our man then he’s already had too much time to cover his tracks. And just because he’s a politician he shouldn’t be treated differently to any other suspect.’

‘I’m with you on that, but whether you like it or not Nathan Wolf is not just any other suspect. Once his name is out there it will trigger a media storm the like of which we haven’t seen in years. And the wave of panic will roll all the way up to the Prime Minister’s office.’

Having made his point, Nash hung up, leaving Anna to wonder just how tricky and frustrating things were going to get in the days ahead.

Walker could tell that she was uptight and it amused him.

‘This really is the stuff of nightmares, guv,’ he said, a slight grin playing on his lips. ‘Victim’s a beautiful model. Her mum’s a top Tory councillor and potential Mayor of London. And the prime suspect is a bloody MP. It doesn’t get more complicated than that.’

She looked at him. Shook her head.

‘And it plays right into your warped sense of humour doesn’t it, Max?’

He shrugged. ‘You’ve either got to laugh or cry, guv. I mean, we’ll either come out of it smelling of roses or else all our careers will be cut short if we fuck up.’

‘That’s why I like having you as my right-hand man, Max,’ she said. ‘Knowing you’re there at my side instils me with confidence.’

‘Seriously, though,’ he said. ‘This is a real fuckfest. But if I’m honest there’s no place I would rather be right now than working this case. I can’t wait to see what else it throws up.’

‘You won’t be surprised that I don’t share your enthusiasm, Max. I’m the one in the firing line. And even before we get started the Commissioner has seen fit to call my competence into question.’

‘Nothing new there then,’ Max said.

Not for the first time Anna wanted to slap him. Instead, she said, ‘So what does your gut tell you, Max?’

He thought about it and replied, ‘It’s clear that if Holly was doing a kiss-and-tell job on Nathan Wolf then he had a motive for wanting her silenced. But it strikes me that we also need to pay attention to the ex-boyfriend as well as the stepdad. Theo Blake would have made us believe that he went straight home after going to Holly’s flat. We only know he didn’t thanks to his wife. What we don’t know is if he told her the truth about going for a drink.’

That was one of the action points she phoned through to the office. She wanted someone to call the King’s Head to check if they had any security footage from that evening. She also asked for files to be produced on Holly Blake, her mother and stepdad, and Nathan Wolf.

‘And run the name Ross Moore through the system to see if it throws anything up,’ she said. ‘He’s Holly’s ex-boyfriend and we think he lives at Primrose Court in Manor Road, Eltham. We need to trace him. Have everything ready for a full team briefing at seven in the morning. If I decide to bring the time forward I’ll let you know.’

Anna then used her phone to go online in search of information on Nathan Wolf. Wikipedia listed the salient facts next to a head-and-shoulders photo.

Nathan Daniel Wolf, aged 45, is a British politician of the Conservative party, serving as Member of Parliament for the Central Somerset constituency.

Anna squinted at his picture. There was no denying that he was good-looking. He had chiselled features and a square jaw, with a full head of dark, wavy hair.

A number of facts were listed beneath the photo and Anna read them out for Walker’s benefit.

‘Wolf was born to a single mother,’ she said. ‘Educated at Eton. Ran a successful financial services company before becoming a politician six years ago. He and his first wife were divorced in 2005. He married Shelley Montague four years later but she died of a stroke. Currently single. No children. Resides in Kensington, London and Bridgewater, Somerset.’

‘No mention of him having a pretty young mistress on the go then,’ Walker said.

Anna shook her head. ‘But it’ll be all over social media as soon as it becomes public knowledge, which it surely will even though Holly is dead.’

‘And then Mr Wolf will join the ranks of those senior politicians whose secret sex lives were exposed by the very women they were shagging.’

‘That will be the least of his worries if we find out that he killed Holly to save his own neck,’ Anna said.

Camden, North London: one of the capital’s most popular areas, famed for its lively market and thriving nightlife.

Stanhope Street was centrally located close to Regent’s Park, lined with a wide range of apartment buildings. Holly Blake’s flat was on the ground floor of a five-storey block that looked about ten years old.

Anna could see why it would appeal to Nathan Wolf if he was indeed paying the rent. It was discreet, nondescript, somewhere he’d be able to nip in and out of without drawing too much attention to himself. What’s more it was only about five miles from his home in Kensington and three miles from the Houses of Parliament.

A patrol car was parked on the road in front of the block, behind an Audi A4 that Anna recognised as one of the team’s unmarked pool cars.

DS Prescott was waiting at the entrance smoking a cigarette. The smell of burning tobacco made Anna crave a nicotine fix, but she knew she had to resist for the time being.

Prescott dropped what remained of his fag onto the ground and let the smoke jet from his nostrils.

‘I didn’t expect you to get here so quickly, ma’am,’ he said.

‘We weren’t that far away,’ she responded. ‘Who’s inside?’

‘DS Niven and a PC. I’ve called up forensics, who should be here soon. And the landlord, a Mr Jason Lattimer, is up in his flat on the first floor waiting for you to talk to him. You’ll want to hear what he has to say.’

‘So show us what you’ve got then.’

Anna and Walker snapped on latex gloves and followed Prescott into the building. There was a small, spotless entrance hall with a lift, stairs and corridors to the left and right. A uniformed officer was standing outside the first front door on the left, Holly’s flat.

‘We got lucky because the landlord happened to arrive just as we did so he let us in,’ Prescott said. ‘He told us this is one of several flats he owns and rents out. Holly Blake moved in just over twelve months ago.’

DC Niven was waiting inside to give them a tour of the flat. It was decorated in whites, creams and pastel colours. There was a mix of wooden floors and carpets. The furniture looked fairly new and expensive, and Anna was struck by how tidy it was. There was nothing to suggest it had been the scene of a crime, although she knew that the forensics officers might well come across something that was invisible to the naked eye.

In the living room, Niven pointed to a sideboard below a wall-mounted TV. On top of it rested an iPad and a laptop.

‘The techies are working on getting into them now,’ he said.

The surfaces were adorned with framed photos of Holly. In some she was fully clothed and in others she was wearing bikinis or underwear. They had all clearly been taken by a professional photographer and had probably graced the pages of fashion magazines at some point.

The small kitchen gleamed with brushed aluminium and the contents of the fridge included no fewer than four bottles of champagne.

‘It’s a two-bedroom flat and this is the one Holly obviously slept in,’ Niven said as he pushed open a door and they followed him in.

The room contained a double bed with a purple duvet, a large dressing table and a fitted wardrobe across one wall that was filled with designer labels and shoes.

‘Check this out,’ Niven said, as he took out one of the many hangers. ‘A pair of men’s trousers. There are also a couple of shirts. And in the bottom drawer socks and pants and a soap bag with shaving gear in it. According to the landlord, Holly had a regular male visitor, a guy who he says is a lot older than her. But before you talk to him there’s something you have to see.’

He led them along the corridor to the second bedroom.

As he waved Anna inside, he said, ‘Needless to say this is not what we expected to find.’

And it certainly wasn’t what Anna had expected to see. Her stomach muscles contracted and the hairs on her neck stood up. It was left to Walker to put into words what she was thinking.

‘I don’t fucking believe it,’ he said. ‘I thought we’d already had enough surprises for one day.’

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

When Sophie woke up she was shocked to find that she was lying on the kitchen floor. It was several seconds before she realised that she must have passed out.

Then it came back to her. The bottle and a half of wine. The shocking revelations in the newspaper about Detective Anna Tate. The knowledge that she might soon lose the only good thing in her life – her daughter.

And the fear that someone had been watching her as she walked to and from the dental clinic.

Her head was pounding and there was a foul taste in her mouth. She hauled herself into a sitting position and planted her back against the wall. Thank God Alice hadn’t got out of bed and found her like this, she thought.

The digital display on the oven told her it was eleven o’clock, which meant she had been unconscious for less than an hour. But that had been time enough for the past to resurface in a familiar dream that took her back to where it all began ten years ago.

Those images, so frighteningly vivid, returned now as she closed her eyes in the hope that it would ease the pain that raged behind them. It was like she was actually there watching herself re-enact the encounter that was to change her life and eventually lead her to this flat in Shoreditch.

Ten years ago

He enters the restaurant with the child in a pushchair. He has fair hair and a handsome face, and is dressed in a tight blue T-shirt and jeans.

The little girl, who looks about two, is wearing a pretty red dress and matching sun hat. She’s fast asleep with her head back and her mouth open.

The sight of her is a painful reminder to Sophie that she isn’t able to have a child of her own because she’s infertile thanks to fucked-up ovaries.

The man decides to sit at a table close to the big window that looks out on the shaded patio. He’s the first customer of the day and as she approaches him with the breakfast menu she can’t help wondering where his wife or girlfriend is.

‘Buenos dias,’ she says. ‘Or should I say good morning?’

The man beams at her, white teeth gleaming.

‘You’ve guessed that I’m English,’ he says. ‘And I’m guessing that you are too despite the perfect Spanish accent.’

‘I am indeed,’ she tells him and places the menu on the table. ‘Are you here for breakfast or just a drink?’

‘I’d like a bacon sandwich and a large Americano coffee with milk and sugar,’ he says.

She gestures towards the child. ‘And what about that sweet little lady? Would she like something?’

He laughs. ‘That sweet little lady is really the devil in disguise. She kept me up most of the night, which is why she’s out to the world now.’

For some reason she feels emboldened to ask him if the child’s mother is with them.

‘Her mother died a while ago,’ he tells her, the smile vanishing. ‘She contracted a rare form of blood cancer. That’s why we’ve moved to Spain. I want us to start a new life here.’

‘I did that four years ago,’ she says. ‘I got fed up with the crowds and depressing weather in London.’

‘We’re from London too,’ he says. ‘We’ve been here just over three weeks. I’m renting an apartment close to the marina while I look around for a business to invest in.’

‘What kind of business?’

‘Not sure yet, but I’ve always wanted to run a bar ever since I spent some time here in Spain as a teenager. Of course, it needs to be something that will allow me to be a proper father at the same time.’

‘That sounds exciting.’ She holds out her hand. ‘By the way, my name is Sophie and I’m the head waitress here at The Clover.’

He takes her hand and the smile is back.

‘And I’m James. James Miller. This is my daughter. Her name’s Alice. She’s two and she means the world to me.’

Sophie opened her eyes and wondered briefly what would have happened if they hadn’t lied to each other that morning. Would they have hit it off like they did and stayed together for the next seven years? Or would James have eaten his bacon sandwich and walked out of her life?

He’d almost certainly be alive now if he had done so. And she would probably still be in Spain, having never experienced true love or the sheer joy of motherhood.

Sophie sat on the kitchen floor for almost five minutes as dark thoughts trampled through her mind.

At the same time the pain in her head was getting worse, insistent, and it seemed like the silent walls of the flat were closing in on her.

She had to force herself to resist the weakness that was taking her over. But it required an enormous effort.

As she clambered to her feet her head spun and the floor seemed to shift beneath her. She had to hold onto the worktop until she regained her equilibrium.

Then, squeezing the memory of ten years ago to one side, she staggered across the kitchen, grabbed a glass and filled it with water from the tap. She downed it in one go, filled the glass again, and carried it unsteadily towards the bedroom.

On the way she paused to look at her reflection in the hall mirror and it made her cringe. Her eyes were glassy, her face sweaty, her shoulder-length black hair a total mess.

She wanted desperately to talk to someone, to unburden herself. But who could she trust? Her parents were dead and she hadn’t spoken to her sister for well over a year. She had also lost touch with her uncles and aunts.

There was Lisa, of course. But Sophie wasn’t sure she wanted her to know what she’d found out. Since her friend lived and worked outside London it was likely she hadn’t read the Anna Tate story in the Standard. If she had then surely she would have called by now.

She couldn’t resist looking in on Alice on the way to her own room. Thankfully she was still asleep, one arm dangling over the edge of the bed. Sophie leaned over and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead.