‘You’re wasting your time. I’m telling you nothing, I’m not agreeing a deal with you. Take these off,’ James Mulligan raised his cuffed hands, ‘and let me go back to my cell.’
Across the table, Detective Chief Inspector Tim Achebe raised his eyebrows. ‘You realise that if we do that, you’ll be locked up for the rest of your life?’
Mulligan glared. ‘Yeah, yeah. Better than being dead, isn’t it?’
There was silence until Jen Somerville, Achebe’s sergeant, sitting beside her boss, said carelessly, ‘Is it?’
‘Marginally.’ Mulligan pouted. ‘Things can happen to a person that are worse than death, you know.’
They did. Achebe said nothing, just watched him. In his grubby grey sweatshirt and jogging bottoms, his auburn hair unwashed, James Mulligan was a less than impressive sight. He had been arrested six weeks earlier when a botched drug deal had resulted in three men, including Mulligan himself, being shot. One had died, but Mulligan’s bullet had gone clean through his thigh. He’d lost some blood but had never been in serious danger. That had come later, once he’d been released from hospital and into the prison system. Now, three beatings and an attempted riot later, they were trying to get him to talk again, and failing.
He looked from Somerville to Achebe. ‘Is one of you going to speak? I’ve said all I’m going to, so get your fingers out of your arses and take me back to Belmarsh.’
Somerville tutted. ‘Is that any way to talk to people who are trying to help you?’
‘Didn’t your mother teach you manners?’ Achebe folded his arms.
Mulligan smirked. ‘You know, she never said a lot to me at all.’ He spoke in a high-pitched screech: ‘Get your thieving hands out of my purse. I don’t know who your father is, so stop fucking asking.’ Reverting to his normal voice, he raised his eyebrows. ‘You know, the usual.’
Somerville sketched a yawn. ‘Yeah, poor you. No wonder you ended up a criminal when you had such a terrible childhood.’
Mulligan tried to point at her. ‘You can be a wee bitch when you put your mind to it, can’t you?’
She beamed. ‘You’re learning.’
He scowled. ‘But you’re not. We’re done. It won’t work. Take me home.’
‘Home?’ Achebe’s nostrils flared. ‘An eight-by-six cell with a stinking toilet in the corner and the most psychotic cellmate you can think of in the other bunk? What do you reckon, James?’
Mulligan said nothing, making a point of ignoring him.
‘How’s your sister?’ Somerville asked suddenly.
Mulligan’s eyes narrowed. ‘My…?’
‘Sister, you remember. Girl who grew up in the same house as you.’ She sat back in her chair and gazed at the ceiling. ‘Lucy?’
Mulligan leant towards her. ‘Is this some kind of—’
‘Postgraduate student at the University of Westminster, isn’t she?’ Somerville inclined her head, checking with Achebe, who nodded, playing along as they had agreed earlier.
‘I believe so. Studying cyber crime and forensics,’ he said. ‘Already holds a degree in computer network security.’
‘Wow.’ Somerville looked suitably impressed. ‘Clever girl.’
‘Very clever girl,’ said Achebe. They both beamed at Mulligan like proud parents.
‘She’s twenty-fucking-four,’ he spat. ‘Hardly a girl.’
‘Don’t tell me you respect her?’ Achebe smiled. ‘I thought women were pieces of meat to you?’
Mulligan glared at him but stayed quiet.
‘Still,’ Somerville tipped her head to the side, ‘a subject like that could come in handy.’
‘We always need geeks,’ Achebe nodded. It was true.
Mulligan’s expression darkened. ‘She wouldn’t work for you lot. Never. Not if you begged her.’
‘What’s wrong, James? Scared we’ll poach her? Wouldn’t look good for you, would it? Your smart-arse little sister, working for the Met?’ Achebe grinned at him. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t already asked her to do some work for you. Hacking, fiddling around with CCTV cameras? Sneaking into other people’s bank accounts?’
Mulligan’s eyes blazed, but when he spoke, he was calm. ‘Leave her out of this. She’s never been involved in any of my business activities.’
Somerville laughed. ‘Is that what we’re calling them? Business activities?’
‘Whatever you say, they’ve made me more money already than you’ll earn in your entire life.’ Mulligan folded his arms.
‘Congratulations. You must be proud of yourself. Now you can enjoy spending it.’ Somerville widened her eyes in an exaggerated double-take, gazing around at the grimy walls and the barred window. ‘Oh no, wait.’
Mulligan tried to applaud, the handcuffs making it impossible. ‘Well done, love. Oscar-winning, that was.’
‘Your sister’s doing well for herself,’ said Achebe. His tone had changed, serious now. Tired of playing games.
‘Don’t you think other people will have noticed that?’ Somerville asked, backing him up.
‘What do you mean?’ Mulligan’s eyes flicked between them. ‘What are you bastards up to now?’
‘We’re concerned about Lucy.’ Achebe leant forward, resting his forearms on the table between them. ‘We want to keep her safe.’
Mulligan glared at him. ‘Really? Good of you. Safe from what?’
‘The two men who worked for you, the brothers? Albanian, not a brain cell between them?’
‘Yeah, I remember them.’ Mulligan allowed himself a smile. ‘Been spilling their guts, have they?’
‘You know they have,’ said Somerville. ‘Couldn’t wait to tell us everything they knew in return for some time off their sentences.’
‘Really.’ A sneer. ‘Won’t have taken long. No loyalty, some people. No balls.’
‘They say you were cooking your own crack, James. That true?’
His cheeks flushed. ‘None of your business.’
‘Come on, we know you were. We’ve been in all your properties, remember, including your cookshop. Your fingerprints all over the pans, DNA everywhere. Have to say, in a way, we were disappointed. We thought we’d brought in a major dealer when we arrested you. Then we discover you’re a one-man band.’ Achebe’s expression was intentionally sorrowful. ‘Not exactly Walter White, are you?’
Mulligan managed a grin. ‘Even he had to start somewhere.’
‘But we still think you can help us.’ Achebe gave the other man a hard look. ‘We need to put away the people you were working with. Otherwise we can’t promise your sister will be safe.’
‘I’ve already told you, no chance.’ Mulligan leant back in his chair, focusing on the door. He raised his voice. ‘Is anyone out there? I want to go back to my cell.’
No reply. Achebe folded his arms, waiting. Mulligan lifted his chin, pressing his lips together, making a show of staying silent. Achebe didn’t care. Let him make them wait. He’d agree in the end, the DCI was certain. When he knew, when he was aware of what was really going on.
Once they’d told him his sister had already received death threats.
In the observation suite, two people were watching the detectives wrestle with James Mulligan.
‘We’re getting nowhere fast.’ Assistant Commissioner Elizabeth Beckett began to push back her chair. ‘I don’t have time for this, Ian.’
Commander Ian Penrith smoothed his shirt over his belly, disturbing a few biscuit crumbs, which fell to the carpet. ‘With respect—’
Beckett was on her feet now, sliding her chair under the desk, her fingers digging into the fabric. ‘I don’t know why you bother saying that. Respect doesn’t come into it. It only means you’re about to say exactly what you want to, whether I find it offensive or not.’
‘With respect, I didn’t ask you to be here.’
Beckett chose to ignore him. ‘We were expecting James Mulligan to know most of the drug dealers, people traffickers and other criminals in London. Now it seems he’s little more than an amateur, a waste of our time and resources. Resources that, as I’m sure I don’t need to remind you, are growing sparser by the day.’
Penrith waved a hand. ‘Yes, I read the memo. Budget cuts. Old news by now, surely?’
‘Memo?’ She made it sound as though he’d mentioned using an abacus to do his expenses, or something equally old-fashioned.
‘Email, whatever.’ He didn’t look at her. ‘Mulligan had a gun. He must have got it from somewhere.’
She scowled. ‘Well I doubt he made it himself. Anyway, the victims weren’t shot with Mulligan’s gun.’
His turn to ignore her. ‘As you’ve said, we also know he was involved in people trafficking. It’s not just about the drugs.’
‘Mulligan’s not going to talk. Listen to him. Whatever he knows, he’ll be killed if he shares it.’
‘Or his sister will.’
Beckett threw up her hands. ‘It’s not going to work, Ian. I’ll admit, it was worth a try, but we need to let Achebe handle the murders. We have other priorities, and yours is rebuilding the team.’
Penrith blew out his cheeks. ‘Which I’ve been trying to do. Every other officer seems to want to work for us.’
‘And how many of them have you considered actually speaking to yourself?’
Now he met her eyes. ‘None.’
‘Ian—’
‘I know.’ He shifted in his seat, the chair creaking. ‘I know we need more bodies.’ He smiled at the word. ‘But they have to be the right ones.’
‘This isn’t a game. We’ve lost three undercover officers: one dead, one who’s been medically retired and one—’
‘Who resigned during a tantrum.’
Beckett’s smile was cold. ‘For the second time. She’s made a habit of walking away. Now we’re down to two men, and Ewan Davies has no experience. You have to admit, it’s not ideal.’
‘I haven’t said it is. That doesn’t mean I’m going to recruit just anyone who shows an interest.’
Beckett exhaled through her nose. ‘She won’t come back, you know.’
‘Would you have her, if she agreed?’
‘No.’ The reply was immediate, as though Beckett had been expecting the question. She probably had. No doubt she had had questions to answer about the resignation of Detective Sergeant Caelan Small. Their prized asset, the jewel in their crown – gone. They’d already had to tempt her back once before, and Penrith wasn’t convinced they’d be able to do so again. He didn’t even know where she was. He’d wandered past her apartment building in Rotherhithe, had a word with the porter, but had discovered nothing. The man hadn’t even admitted to knowing her. She had a habit of earning loyalty.
‘What did you say to her?’ Penrith hadn’t asked before, but Caelan Small had told Beckett she was resigning during a conversation at the bedside of Nicky Sturgess, Caelan’s former lover and colleague, who had recently been injured in the course of duty. Sturgess had also left the force, accepting the offer of an extremely early and well-pensioned retirement. Perhaps Caelan was with Nicky, but he doubted it. From what Penrith had heard, Nicky now needed a full-time carer, and he struggled to imagine Caelan nursing anyone. The pair had a complicated, troubled history, their relationship destroyed by a decision Caelan had seen as the ultimate betrayal on Nicky’s part, when Nicky’s death had been faked to protect her during an investigation. Caelan, believing she had seen her lover murdered, had been shattered. When Nicky had eventually reappeared hoping to rekindle the relationship, Caelan, stunned and furious, had walked away.
Beckett didn’t answer Penrith’s question, a faint blush staining her cheeks. Penrith noted this with interest. Elizabeth Beckett’s emotions were usually imperceptible.
‘Ma’am?’
She met his eyes. ‘Does it matter? Caelan’s gone and we need to move on.’
‘I’d just like to know—’
‘All right. She said she wanted to take some leave. I told her she wouldn’t be able to stay away from the job for long. She called my bluff.’ Beckett blinked at the memory. Penrith knew she wasn’t regretting her behaviour or feeling guilty. She hadn’t risen to the rank of assistant commissioner by accident. He imagined the scene: Nicky lying unconscious in the hospital bed, Caelan angry and emotional, Beckett unrepentant.
‘And told you she was leaving permanently,’ he said.
Beckett nodded. ‘I also told her we were thinking about making Mulligan an offer.’
‘And?’
‘She wasn’t interested.’
Penrith pinched his lower lip. ‘Give me a week.’
He could hear the desperation in his own voice, knew Beckett would too.
‘To do what?’ She inclined her head. ‘I’ve already said I don’t want Caelan back here.’
‘She’s the best undercover officer we have.’
‘She was the best undercover officer we had, I agree, but she also played by her own rules. I can’t condone that.’
‘You don’t have to. I’m the head of covert policing now. If the shit hits the fan, it’ll stick to me. Your name won’t be mentioned; you can walk away without a scratch. Or a stain.’ Penrith gave her a sideways glance, wondering if she would take the bait.
Beckett looked down her nose. ‘Nice try.’
He laughed. ‘Come on. Let me speak to her at least.’
‘What will you tell her? That we can’t manage without her?’ She curled her lip, and Penrith smiled to himself. Beckett was pissed off because she knew it was true. Caelan had always been their star, and without her they were struggling.
‘Flattery won’t work. I’ll tell her about the victims.’
‘That’s Tim Achebe’s case.’
‘And Lucy.’
Beckett considered it. ‘A damsel in distress? She’ll see through you.’
‘Maybe.’ Penrith bared his teeth. ‘But she still won’t be able to say no.’