Catching the Ice Queen Read online

  What? Robin glanced at Lionel Goode whose face had paled. Perhaps that was why the judge had been rushed and late: the fix had already gone in.

  ‘Don’t do it, don’t you do it,’ she could hear the inspector praying under his breath, but it made no difference. Grandly, and with a beautiful facsimile of candour, the man smiled from under his white wig, and began to demolish their case even before they’d presented it.

  Ms Dean had been the victim of police harassment.

  She had been nowhere near the murder scene.

  Fifteen witnesses placed her at home at the time of Mr Barlow’s death.

  The search of her home had been carried out illegally, as the warrant had not been filed properly.

  And then, this was the kicker: the gun allegedly found during that search was inadmissible, and indeed could not now be located by the prosecution.

  At the burst of outrage along the police bench that followed this statement the magistrate did stir himself to ask a question.

  ‘Is that correct?’ he enquired of the worried-looking CPS barrister. She straightened up from a whispered exchange with an underling and cleared her throat.

  ‘My lord, with the greatest respect this is an unorthodox start to these proceedings. The Crown had not been afforded the opportunity to lay its case before you…’

  ‘That is not my question to you, Ms Khan. Please tell the Court the location of the weapon which you have entered into evidence under number 652A.’

  The woman swallowed and Robin could see sweat shining on her top lip. ‘I believe that piece of evidence has been temporarily misplaced, my lord.’

  ‘Temporarily misplaced? Until it is found then how can you state its loss is temporary?’

  ‘I believe it will be temporary, sir.’

  Robin wanted to scream. These pointless legal joustings were just window-dressing, she could tell. Sylvie had knobbled the magistrate, lined up her lying witnesses, and made off with the evidence even before the rest of them had got up this morning. And there she was, watching the show she’d engineered with a huge smile on her lovely, wicked face.

  Mr Henderson for the defence made an elegant bow to his colleague. ‘We sympathise with the Crown’s difficulties in this matter, my lord. However we believe this case was flawed from its inception and has been marred by gross negligence on the part of the police.’ He passed a bundle of documents to a clerk, who scuttled over and reached them up to the judge. ‘These papers clearly indicate a number of failings of procedure, including the mistakes in the filing of the search warrants.’

  ‘Fucking bastard,’ DCI Goode’s face was white and blotchy like a man on the verge of a heart attack. ‘That warrant was bloody water tight, we checked and triple checked it.’

  Ms Khan, seeing her case slipping away, rallied. ‘My lord, the Crown requests that its eye witness to these terrible events be given the opportunity to give his evidence. Sir, a video link has already been set up to facilitate this.’ She indicated a large screen that had been wheeled into the back of the court room.

  A rush of hope bloomed in Robin’s chest for a second, but then she saw a note being passed to the defence barrister.

  ‘My lord, I am given to understand that the witness has absented himself and is no longer in police custody. He is not available to give evidence, and clearly has no wish to do so.’

  What?! DS Richardson took one look at his boss’ face and ducked out of the court, his phone tight to his ear.

  ‘Ms Khan?’ the judge’s voice was solemn and weighted with a decision already made.

  ‘We are enquiring, my lord.’

  As the minutes ticked by Robin felt the atmosphere in the room slowly change from anticipation to suppressed jubilation. The viewing gallery was packed with sharp-suited young men who began to chatter excitedly and wave down at their boss, seated like an empress in the dock.

  ‘What the hell is happening?’ she whispered to the DCI.

  ‘It’s a stitch-up, Tweets, that’s what this is.’ Lionel Goode was sagging in his chair, all the fight gone. ‘She’s won. She’d won before we even got here.’

  ‘No! I can’t believe it! All the evidence, the witness…’

  Richardson slid back into the row and shook his head grimly. ‘Gone,’ he said, ‘The CCTV equipment wasn’t working properly in his original safe house so he had to be moved to another location. On the way, there was some confusion – his original protective squad thought the new guys had him, but the new team thought he was with the first lot. It was only when they got to the new place they realised that he wasn’t with either of them. He was last seen getting into a dark blue saloon that looked identical to our normal pool cars. After that – nothing.’ He sat back and swore. ‘Poor bastard’s probably in a shallow grave somewhere by now.’

  The enormity of the statement sat in the middle of the room, a huge lens that now distorted everything around it.

  Everyone must have been watching their body language because there was an immediate rush of excited clamour that the magistrate had to bang his gavel to quieten.

  ‘Ms Khan, I see you have received news. Please share it with the court.’

  ‘Shitting hell,’ said the barrister under her breath. She rose to her feet and tried gamely for a sober tone. ‘My lord, I ask the court’s indulgence for an adjournment for the police to investigate the mysterious disappearance of their witness. I –‘ She didn’t get any further.

  With a bang of the gavel the judge interrupted.

  ‘I fail to see that an adjournment would improve the case the Crown is presenting to the court. I reprimand the police for bringing this prosecution and for the paucity of evidence presented.’

  ‘My lord, we have been given no opportunity to put forward our evidence –‘

  Another bang of the gavel.

  ‘I therefore dismiss this case and all charges against the defendant. Court dismissed.’

  In the roar of jubiliation that followed Sylvie stood and waved at her friends in the gallery, and then grinned at the row of thunderous faces along the police bench. Seeing Robin, she winked, then blew her an exaggerated kiss.

  ‘Ciao, bella!’ she called, and then turned to shake hands with her barrister.

  Robin scowled, and then - out of the corner of her eye - she saw Lionel Goode frown, and then slowly turn to stare at her. A cold fist of fear coalesced in her chest and sank slowly into her stomach. Nobody would think she had anything to do with this, would they?

  Would they?

  During the silent ride back to the station she realised that, yes, they would. DS Richardson was sitting as far away from her on the back seat as it was possible to get, as if worried he’d be contaminated. DCI Goode had refused to even look at her, and now was hunched over his phone, texting furiously. Even the police driver had picked up on the atmosphere and was shooting dirty looks at her in the rear-view mirror.

  I didn’t bloody do anything!

  She wanted to shout and rant at them, but knew it wouldn’t do any good. Just like last time she’d been hung out to dry by Sylvie Dean – just for her own amusement, apparently – and just like last time she’d have to wait patiently to be exonerated. But maybe this time will be different, the nasty voice in her head whispered, maybe they’ll think that once is unlucky but twice looks like corruption. With a sharp stab of worry she suddenly pictured Lara Black being told what had happened, her beautiful face hardening into that terrifying Valkyrie.

  She’ll believe me. Won’t she?

  Pulling into the station she saw small knots of officers hanging around the entrance, just to see the drama unfolding. With Keith Bolton gone, she could pick out no friendly faces at all. In silence she and the others moved towards the lift up to the CID room, waiting endlessly for the indicator above the door to drop to zero. A couple of times she tried to speak to the DCI but his frozen glare made the words stick in her throat. Then finally the doors opened, revealing Lara Black standing inside.

  ‘Get the
next one,’ she said to Lionel Goode, who looked startled but nodded. Then to Robin she said merely: ‘In.’

  Robin had never seen her look so angry. Her mouth was set in a bitter line and her eyes were dead and cold. Shivering, she stepped into the lift. Lara paused long enough for the doors to shut but then she crossed the space in one furious stride and slapped the younger woman across the face.

  ‘You bitch!’ she seethed, jabbing a finger into Robin’s chest, ‘you fucking bitch! How dare you use me in your disgusting, corrupt game!’

  Robin straightened up, her hand on her cheek, and tears stinging her eyes. ‘I haven’t -‘

  ‘No!’ the woman almost spat with contempt, ‘don’t bother with your excuses. God knows I should never have fallen for them last time. I mean, Christ, how blatant have you been? All the late night texting, the flowers, the hook up at the club – how long have you and Dean been planning this, eh? Since you came to the city? Before?’

  Anger flooded into Robin, momentarily displacing the horror and the grief. ‘I don’t fucking know Sylvie Dean, can’t you bloody understand that?’

  Lara stood back, a vicious sneer on her face. ‘Oh I understand perfectly. You went out of your way to get me to notice you, get me to pay you attention. All those long looks and lonely sighs, and then you milk me for information, which you pass straight back to her.’ At the word, the discordant note of jealousy sounded under all her anger. ‘And now you’ve got her off the hook. Congratulations. She’ll be very pleased.’ She stepped nearer again and with a sharp pain Robin could smell her perfume, ‘But she won’t visit you in Holloway, you do know that, right? She’ll throw you over like that –‘ she snapped her fingers – ‘now you’re no use to her. And you’ll be facing twenty five years for corruption in public office, conspiracy, murder, all for fucking nothing.’

  With an incongruous ping the lift opened on one of the lower floors and a woman with her arms full of photocopying made to step inside.

  ‘No.’ said Lara Black shortly, stabbing the close door button and choosing another floor at random. Slowly the lift began to descend again.

  Robin bit her lip but couldn’t stop her tears. Lara hated her, it was so clear, so terrible, like a great wedge of ice driven down between them. ‘I don’t know Sylvie Dean. I am not the mole. I have not given her any information or anything else. The only woman I’ve been interested in since I came to this bloody place is you. I love you. Think what you want, do what you want, you can’t change that.’

  She slumped back against the wall, and looked at the floor. In the silence that followed she heard Lara’s unsteady breathing and the whirr of the CCTV camera in the corner as it tracked between them. It was all over now, and Robin found she didn’t really care what happened to her. Lara hated her, disbelieved her, had slapped her in her anger and rage. Bitterly she felt a useless surge of anguish that the woman she loved should be so hurt and she not be able to make the pain go away.

  The camera moved again. Bloody pervs are probably getting off on this downstairs in the control centre, she thought. And then her tired brain joined the dots and presented her with the answer, clear and obvious. She caught her breath. Jesus, how did I not put that together?

  Judging she had about thirty seconds before the lift ponderously finished its journey she stepped quickly past Lara Black and turned around. She was now standing under the camera, which could therefore no longer see her. Lara opened her mouth to say something but stopped when she saw the look in Robin’s eyes.

  ‘Shut up and listen. I know how the mole has been getting the information, I’ve just worked it out.’ The woman went to speak but Robin didn’t let her. ‘Fucking shut up! It’s the CCTV in the lifts, you and the Chief Constable and everyone else have got so paranoid you’ve been using the lift for confidential meetings. Someone has been watching you on CCTV and reading your lips. That is how Sylvie Dean has known everything before it happened. Not. From. Me.’

  For a second she thought that even now Lara wouldn’t listen, but she was fundamentally too good a copper for that. She watched as she put it all together, her eyes narrowing at Robin and then flicking instantaneously up at the camera, sitting benignly in its corner above their heads.

  ‘Who?’ she asked. A faint light of hope could almost be seen on her face, but then was snatched away. ‘Who was it if not you?’

  The lift stopped and the doors opened. Robin stepped backwards out onto the garage floor at the same time as reaching across and selecting Roof. Lara reacted like a cat but it was too late, the doors were closing, reducing her outraged, furious, anguished face to a sliver and then to nothing. In its place Robin could see herself reflected smudgily in the battered metal of the doors.

  Under her breath she said, ‘It was Elvis. And I’m going to prove it.’

  Chapter 14

  She knew she didn’t have a moment to waste, so turned at once and strode out of the garage and back to her car. Why didn’t I put this together before? She asked herself bitterly, jumping into the driver’s seat and slamming the door. Because I was distracted by a tall blonde, she answered herself. The car spluttered, and she thumped the dashboard to get rid of the warning light, but this time it didn’t go out. Again and again she twisted the key but the engine didn’t turn over. The mystery fault, whatever the hell it was, had finally killed it.

  ‘Shit!’

  She looked into the rear view mirror and saw an unmarked car pulling into the garage. In a second she was out of the door and marching over. Tony Parker was standing up from the driving seat, letting rip to a huge and savoury fart.

  ‘That’s better,’ he announced to his pal, Lenny, who was getting out and sniggering. ‘Hello, hello, Sullivan, what do you want?’

  The two men half smiled to themselves, moving around the battered saloon to try and intercept her – which would have worked if she’d been on her way to the lift, as they thought. But she wasn’t. In a blink she’d crossed behind the car and jumped behind the wheel.

  ‘Oi!’

  She gunned the engine and plastered a fake grin on her face. ‘Thanks for the car, chaps.’ Then she shot past them and out of the garage before they had a chance to move. She pulled out into the traffic and turned instinctively right towards the meaner end of town. At the same time she speed dialled her phone and crossed her fingers that she’d get an answer.

  ‘Hullo?’ the gravelly voice of Keith Bolton was such a relief to hear that she found herself almost in tears.

  ‘Keith, it’s me.’

  ‘Tweets! What’s this I heard on the radio about the trial –‘

  ‘Never mind that now. I need some information, urgently.’

  He stopped talking instantly, God bless him. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Where does Mac Mackenzie live? I know you know, you put him in a taxi after the Christmas party.’ She could feel Bolton’s well-honed detective’s suspicion crackling down the phone line. ‘Please, Keith, trust me.’

  Please let somebody trust me.

  ‘Balvernie Grove, just off the Wellington Road. Number 86, I think. Can’t remember the flat number. Bit of a shit hole.’ Then: ‘What’s going on, Robin?’

  She swung the wheel and cut across a junction just as the lights were changing. It shouldn’t take her too long to get up to Wellington Road. And with a bit of luck Mac ‘Elvis’ Mackenzie would have been waiting for Sylvie to get out of court before demanding his final pay off. It was a long shot, but the only one she had.

  ‘Tweets?’

  She realised she hadn’t answered. ‘Sorry. I know who the mole is. Can I ask another favour?’

  ‘Course.’

  ‘Can you ring the DCI and tell him…’

  ‘Why don’t you tell him?’

  ‘It’s a long story. But this is the message: the mole is Mac Mackenzie. I think he’s in hoc to Sylvie Dean for gambling debts – he was getting Gary Greenway to place bets for him because he’s barred from the bookies - and this is how he’s been paying her off. He�
��s been the one feeding her information, first about the shipment of guns and then about the whole Ice Queen operation. He’s got it by lipreading the confidential conversations around the station, in the lift, and in other places, that he’s been watching on CCTV.’ Another penny dropped. ‘And he probably rigged the CCTV in our witness’ safe house to stop working this morning, meaning he’d have to be moved.’

  There was a long silence. Then Bolton snarled: ‘That bastard!’ and she almost smiled. ‘You need to tell Lionel this yourself, girl, where are you?’

  With a pang she realised she couldn’t say. ‘Just tell him that I’m trying to make things right, ok?’

  ‘Tweetie – whatever you’re…’ she hung up, and switched the phone off.

  She sat at the lights, waiting to turn into the maze of streets cocooning Wellington Road, and tried not to cry. She gripped the steering wheel tightly to stop her hands from shaking and took deep breaths. Speaking to Keith Bolton had made her feel, just for a minute, that she wasn’t alone, that somebody else might help sort this mess out. But she knew that was just an illusion; it was down to her and if she couldn’t prove that Mackenzie was the guilty party then everything was over: her career, her life, and any chance she might once have had at a relationship with Lara Black. A dark blue sedan pulled out from an opposite street and crossed in front of her as she sat brooding, and it took a nanosecond for her to realise that Mac had been driving.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ The lights went green and she floored the accelerator, shoving across the traffic to the blare of horns, and then shooting down the side street after him. If I’ve lost him now… but no, there he was, driving with implausible sedateness. She hung back, watching his indicator light blinking before he turned into the only light industrial area in this whole part of town. It was only half used, a tangle of big box stores and empty warehouses, most of it abandoned to some forgotten recession - just the place to meet a crime boss who owes you money.