CHAPTER ONE
Its the little things that count.
Carla Raes cooling body was testament to that. Her wide eyes no longer shone as the drying surfaces became sticky. With no further call to pump through the lifeless veins, her blood settled heavily in her limbs. The cheap electric clock on the bedside table ticked the minutes away, moving on from the moment of her death without even a hitch¬ing breath of hesitation. The world continued. Twentyfi ve yearold Carla Rae didnt. There would be no twentysixth birthday. The inner mechanics of her body were accepting that, even if in the dying mo¬ments her mind had raged against the inevitability.
Tick tock. Silent bodyclock stopped.
Gases began to accumulate where stomach acids were no longer working to digest the Chinese take away shed eaten not that many hours before. Soon, if left untouched, her flat belly would rise into a swollen ball of foulsmelling air before it escaped loudly in a last and woefully late warcry against the silence of deathbut it wouldnt come to that for Carla Rae. The small pinprick in her arm, the life now growing in her eyes and the words scrawled in crimson across her naked chest would ensure a neat and clinical autopsy on a metal bed less soft than that on which she currently lay. Not that she would notice. The soft fl esh that had been Carla Raes home was beyond feeling anything at all.
* * *
The real matter of life isnt about decisions, its about choices. Deci¬sions are the big things; theyre thought out, weighed and evaluated. Each brings a unique set of consequences, maybe good, maybe otherwise, but theyre of our own making, and that is a comfort in itself. Even the bad ones well take on the chin, albeit quietly railing against our own stupidity. Decisions make us think were in control.
Its the little things that count: the choices.
Its enough to drive you crazy if you let it: we dont think about choices; we justmake them. And yet those fleeting moments are depen¬dent on the moment or mood, and all entwined with an endless series of other choices made by people unknown. Its almost funnyif youve got that black kind of sense of humour. Little choices stories are every¬where, but theyre blaming luck, or fatethey scream out from the pages of grubby tabloid newspapers and cheap TV channels. But those stories are wrong.
There is no luck. Or fate. Its your own choices that will fuck you up.
Or at least thats what DI Cass Jones was thinking as he stood in the doorway looking at the naked body face up on the untidy bed. What Godawful mistake did she make that she died here, on these stained sheets, in this shithole estate? Did she decide to walk instead of get¬ting a cab? Did she accept a drink from the wrong almosthandsome stranger? Five minutes earlier, five minutes laterwho knew where shed be? Maybe still lying here, maybe breathing in ignorance some¬where else. It always came down to choices.
He sighed, his brown eyes bleary from a day that had already been too long. Whichever it was, the game was all over for her; now she was just one more statistic in a world that was rapidly caring less about statistics.
Outside, night was only just beginning to crack the sky, fracturing the deep blue of the dying day with streaks of orange and red, fi lling the small bedroom with an eerie gloom. It had been a hot day and the stale air was rank as stagnant pond water. Cass found himself breath¬
ing shallowly through his mouth.
Can someone open a window or is that too much to ask?”
The poised camera flashed brightly over the body before the unfa¬miliar photographer turned, his green plastic suit rustling. Too much to ask.” He grinned, his face young and free of lines, which was enough in itself to make the detective inspector want to punch him.
Say cheese.” Before Cass could react, the bed and the fi gures around it became black voids haloed in white as in the gloom a haze of buzz¬ing flies darted to safety in the corners.
Jesus Christ!” The backs of his eyes had the scene imprinted in re¬verse lights and shadows before it started to fade.
Sorry.” The cameraman shrugged, still smiling. I sometimes get this overwhelming urge to photograph someone thats living. Call me twisted.”
From beside the bed, a crouched figure rose. And if you carry on like that, itll be only the living youre working withif youre lucky to be working at all.” The voice was acidsharp and the young man visibly shrivelled into his plastic coating as he gurgled a muted apology.
Now piss off and take those cameras back to the van.” He was still unimpressed.
DI Jones stared at the junior examiner as he squeezed awkwardly past, two cameras in one hand, the heavy protective case in the other. When he was trapped somewhere between Casss shoulder and the doorframe, the DI leaned forward.
If I ever hear that pictures been developed, Ill be looking for you.” For a brief moment, Cass was sure he could hear the boys heart pause. Do you understand?”
The assistant nodded vigorously and Cass shifted half an inch to his left and let him go.
He watched him wearily, for a moment overwhelmed by the sheer stupidity of youth, as the boy rapidly disappeared into the mêlée of SOCOs filling the rest of the flat. He needed to learn his place, and he also needed to learn that DI Cass Jones wasnt known for his perky sense of humour. And, more importantly for the assistant, neither was Dr. Mark Farmer. In the current lackofjobs market there was no room for stupid mistakes, and one day, when he was older and wiser, he might realise that Cass had done him a favour.
New assistant?”
My penance for training the last one up so well.” The ME pulled his hood back, thick silver curls springing free across his head and down to his shoulders, turning him from coroner to ageing rock star in one swift movement. He frowned. What are you doing here, Jones? This isnt your case.”
It is now.” The air trapped by the naileddown window seemed denser, almost clinging to the body like a mourning relative. It felt like dayold cigarette smoke against the roof of Casss mouth as he said, Bowman was rushed to hospital this morning with a suspected burst appendix. Looks like he could be out of action for weeks, so his case¬loads been passed on to me. No extra pay, of course.”
Of course.” The ME shrugged. Although peritonitis is nasty. Hes lucky to be alive.”
No luck involved: the stupid bastards been complaining about feeling like shit for a couple of weeks. He should have gone and got it sorted ages ago. Its not like the police dont still get NHS.”
Ah yes, the perks of being a civil servant.” The coroner looked ready to launch into his usual bitter commentary on the state of Britain, the world and lifeeverlasting should he be given even the slightest hint of encouragement, but Cass, with little interest in politics and even less in Farmers particular viewpoint, refused to be drawn, forcing the ME to fall silent. Cass was too tired and pissed off to be a willing sounding board, and the stench in the room was such that surely they all wanted to be free of it as soon as possible.
He peered at the girls naked body. The poor cows ribs jutted up¬wards over her concave stomach in a way that suggested either poverty or an advanced eating disorder. Given the cheap dye job on her almost ginger hair, perhaps an attempt at blonde, Cass figured the former. Her large nipples were now simply islands of pink on the tiny curves that were almost breasts. Would she be any less fl atchested standing up¬right? He doubted it.
What is this? Number four?”
The ME stood alongside him. Yesat least we can presume so. Ill confirm when I get the toxicology results back after the PM. Youre going to have some catching up to do if you want half a chance of solving this one. Ill send all my notes over to you. I presume your sergeants still getting debriefed by Bowmans sergeant? So she should have a good idea of whats going on. Or is that over now?”
Cass was surprised. Farmer wasnt normally one for loaded remarks, at least outside of those that served to support his delicate leftwing sen¬sibilities. For once, Cass would have preferred that; Claire Mays pri¬vate life was none of Farmers business. He ignored the question, saying, Mays staying on the Jackson and Miller case and Im keeping Blackmore on this one. Stupid to switch them over as Im working both. If I change them well all be confused rather than just me.”
His fingers itched for the feel of a cigarette and a quiet space to just empty his mind and breathe. It had been a bitch of a day, and he fi g¬ured Farmers hadnt been much better. Resources were tight and ev¬eryone was overworked. The image of the smiling bobby on the beat had been murdered long ago. His unsmiling eyes scanned the beds contents.
The young womans skin was pale, with no hint of tan lines, either fresh, or the final fading memories of a holiday long gone. An empty ache touched the pit of his stomach. It wasnt quite pity, but it was close enough. Neither he nor the doc had had as bad a day as the dead girl in front of them.
NOTHING IS SACRED was daubed across the top of her chest, below her angular collarbones and above her poor excuse for breasts. Somehow that thick crimson splatter made her death even more pa¬thetic than the dingy flat ever could. Nothing is sacred.
Youre telling me, mate,” he muttered under his breath, directing the words at the ghost of the stranger whod stood where he was stand¬ing now, intently painting the letters onto the dead womans cooling flesh, no doubt thinking he was doing something profound. Cass Jones knew better. There was no message in murder; this was just some sick bastard making excuses for his choices.
How longs she been dead?”
A few hours. He may have had her here longer, but Id say he killed her around about midday or one oclock.”
Who found her?” Cass was surprised anyone had found her at all. Most of the flats in this block were either condemned, with squatters in, or inhabited by the kind of people that had no concern for their neighbours.
He wanted her found. There was a boombox on, playing some kind of thrash metal music; he must have put it on just as he left. It was loud enough to piss off the people on either side. They kicked the door in around four and then called the police. And here we are.”
And here we are,” Cass repeated softly. A thin bracelet that prob¬ably wasnt real gold hung from the wrist that flopped over the side of the bed, a miniature horse hanging from it. Her lucky charm? What about her eyes?” he asked. They looked normal enough, but he wasnt the expert.
Ill let you know once Ive taken a look under the microscope. I cant see properly in this light. Shes not been dead long enough for them to develop, but Im presuming shes the same as the others.”
Cass fi gured the doctor was right. Who was she?”
Her names Carla Rae. Your lot have her purse and bag. Her ID card was in it. Shes twentyfive, unemployed, unmarried. She was a nothing. A nobody.” On the other side of the bed, the ME gathered the tools of his trade together. Im done here. Ill get the bodybaggers in and get her back to the lab. Should have an initial report for you by end of play tomorrow.”
Crouched by the bed, Cass nodded slightly. A nobody. A nothing. For the first time in their long association, the DI realised that perhaps he didnt like the ME all that much. He doubted Carla Rae would have either. A small bruise had bloomed around the tiny pinprick in her arm and he froze for a moment, wondering whether he could feel her call¬ing out for answers.
Outside, street lamps flickered into humming existence. Cass sucked in a lungful of the womans death before standing up and stepping back so the paramedics could roll her into the black zipup. He glanced at his watch, the numbers glowing naggingly back at him, and his heart speeded up; shit. He needed to kick his lethargy back into touch. It was just gone fi vethirty and he had to be in Soho in thirty minutes time. It was his day to collect.
The dying embers of the day clung to the skyline, and peering blearily out through the windscreen Cass wondered if maybe the world might truly be in the grip of some insanity that was slowly hugging it closer and refusing to let go.Things were going to get better. Thats what the newspapers and perfectly presented newsreaders kept repeating. Cass couldnt see it though. As far as he could tell, they were all sinking deeper and deeper into the shit, and no one had a rope to cling to, let alone a shovel big enough to dig them out. And as the world got crazier, so did the rules, leading to situations like this one, which had him heading into Soho for a transaction all the bosses over at Scotland Yard must know about but obviously preferred to ignore. Maybe they liked to pretend their shit didnt stink the same as everyone elses.
But then, he figured, lighting a cigarette as the traffic crawled to¬wards the inevitable central London almost gridlock, what did he know? Hed been wallowing in the brown stuff for longer than he cared to re¬member. Smoke filled the confined space and he grinned, enjoying it more because it was illegal to be smoking inside the car. Understanding the thrill of breaking rules was what made Cass Jones such a good po¬liceman. Despite his disgruntled colleagues assertions that Cass was just lucky when it came to solving his cases, he knew luck had nothing to do with it. Cass was a good copper because he thought like a crimi¬nal, and that was all there was to it. He took another long drag before winding down the window, letting the smoke escape to join the other poisonous fumes belching out from the vehicles shuffling their way through the centre of town. The air reeked of life.
The heaviness hed felt watching the dead womans body being bagged up finally lifted as the car filled with the earthy noises of the city. There wasnt a place in the world to beat London Town. It was grimy and gritty and cold and damp, but it was a tough old place that had survived for centuries; the ghosts of the past lurked on every street in the shape of the buildings and the plaques that proudly declared their longgone residents, bolstering the living with the solid anchor of their heritage. It would take a lot to bring London and her Londoners to their knees. They might be buckling under the recession, but the city would find a way to bring them all through. It always did.
He flicked the butt out of the window and thought of Carla Rae again. Londons residents now at least had the prospect of a serial killer to look forward to. There had been four dead women found in the same circumstances in the space of two months, and in these straitened times, where bad news of some sort or another filled the papers every day, the press wouldnt pass up a juicy story like this once theyd joined the dots. At least once this was splattered across the pages of the tab¬loids it might distract the masses from their own misery for a while. Once theyd devoured the details of the deathsthe murders of those less fortunate, then out of the woodwork would come everyone whod ever known them, or dated them, or been in the same bar, or whod just always had the feeling that fate would not be kind. Everyone loved the thrill of it could have been me. It made them feel lucky, when of course there was no luck. There were only choices.
Cass didnt care that people would get a thrill from the death of Carla Rae; that was only human nature. What he cared about was that the press didnt get hold of too much information. The words scrawled across the womens chests, thatthey could have. But the eyes were dif¬ferent. They needed to hold back those details if they were ever going to weed out the crazies who would be lining up to confess as soon as the papers hit the stands.
It was nearly an hour after leaving the tower block in Newham that he finally edged the Audi out past a bus and pulled into Denman Street. The narrow street just off the Piccadilly end of Shaftesbury Avenue was a tiny vein almost lost in the heart of the city, but as with most things, appearances were deceptive. He left his car in the cramped and ridiculously overpriced NCP car park and walked the few steps in the cooling air to the discreet entrance to Moneypennys, one of Artie Mullins nightclubs, and checked his watch again. He was still late.
Cass pushed the button by the door and then looked up at the small camera attached almost invisibly at the corner of the building. A mo¬ment later the buzzer sounded and he was inside, jogging down the stairs to the basement club. Below the street it could be any time of day or night, and there was something about that which appealed to Cass. Time stood still away from the hustle and bustle of the city and the rise and fall of the sun, and that allowed a sense of freedom, even if it was only a shortlived flight of the imagination.
Youre late.” ArthurArtie to his friendsMullins sat at the long bar, sipping beer from a tall glass. If it was any other fucker I might think they werent coming.” He grinned, one gold cap fl ashing against the tarred brown of the rest of his teeth. Not you though, Jones. I think youd collect even if some bastard had taken your kneecaps out.” He stood up and pulled out a second stool. Beer?”
Cass nodded and sat down. Sorry. Its been one of those days.”
Arent they all?” Like most of Londons hard men, Artie had spent a lot of time bodybuilding in gyms in the past and his thickset frame looked out of place behind the slick modern bar. As he bent over, Cass could make out the start of a paunch under his polo shirt. Cass wasnt fooled by it. Artie might be pushing sixty, with his gym days well be¬hind him, but he was still one of the most dangerous men in the crimi¬nal underworld. Cass liked him, though. He couldnt help himself.
Artie pulled a bottle of Becks from the row of illuminated fridges beneath the mirrored back bar and popped the lid off before handing it across. Here you go. Same as normal.”
Thanks.” Cass left the thick brown manila envelope on the marble surface. He wouldnt bother counting it Artie Mullins was no mug. He wouldnt rip off the police.
Its a funny old world were in, isnt it?” Arties face cracked into a grin that sent a shockwave of wrinkles across his leathered face. It was the same comment he always made on pickup days, and as usual Cass couldnt think of an answer. He clinked his bottle with Arties and took a long swallow. It was a funny world. There was no denying that.
Back in 2011, as the government realised that there was no way the country could financially sustain itself, the real noholdsbarred cut¬backs began. They didnt even bother trying to dress them up. The NHS virtually disappeared for all except the chosen few sectors of so¬ciety. No state pensions for anyone over fortyfi veand those that were already paying out were to be cut back to the minimum. Police pay became performancerelated: the more arrests that led to convic¬tions, the more you got paid. Although still running in principle, in reality that initiative worked for about a week, because the gap be¬tween arrest and conviction was often months, even years, and the paperwork took forever to fill in and keep track of.
They all still claimed it when they could, because of course arrests and convictions were still being made, but then someone came up with a more reliable way of getting paid. The police chiefs sitting in their ivory towers and dreaming up these half arsed schemes chose to ignore the fact that it was much easier for the rank and file to take their performancerelated pay in cash from men like Arthur Artie” Mul¬lins, a taxfree cash bonus for simply not arresting certain people; in effect, for leaving the firms alone. Cass always thought of it as a non performancerelated pay scheme.
In the main, most coppersCass among them were happy to take it. No one wanted to spend their days chasing lowlife scum just so they could earn a decent wage. There would always be people out there selling drugs, and even more that wanted to buy them, and yes, they could drive themselves into early graves chasing them all endlessly, but what would be the point? There was always someone else more than happy to take over, and as far as Cass was concerned, they could carry right on with their business, as long as they didnt start making things dangerous for mainstream society.
The world wasnt fair. Instead, like Cass, it was just tiredbut when those firms stepped across the line and let their business affect the or¬dinary world of the ninetofivers, then he felt his blood rise and the policeman in him came to life. And as long as that didnt happen, the system worked just fine and everyone was happy.
Todays been in a league of its own.” The beer was cool and it left a refreshingly bitter aftertaste at the back of his throat.
Yeah?” On the other side of the bar, Artie watched him. They still got you coming after me for the murder of those two boys?” His eyes were hard. Not that I have to ask. Ive developed a case of per¬manent plainclothes shadow. Its a right pain in the arse when Im try¬ing to do business. I should sue you lot for loss of income.”
Cass shrugged and Artie smiled. Beneath the surface warmth, there was something of the shark in it.
Funny how my money buys safety for my employers, but not for me, isnt it? ”
You know the bonus doesnt cover that kind of shit. They might have been aiming for Macintyre, but whoever shot those kids broke the rules. All bets are off in this case.”
There was a pause and Artie sipped his beer, then looked at Cass thoughtfully over the rim of the glass. For his own part, Cass lit a ciga¬rette and then met the mans gaze. He was tired and all he wanted to do was go and shower Carla Raes death away, but hed known this conver¬sation was on the cards. The boys had been gunned down the week be¬fore, and all fingers pointed to Artie Mullins. For those screaming for a quick arrest, Artie was the obvious choice. Sam Macintyre was becom¬ing quite a force among the firms, and he was a clear rival to Arties rule. It was pretty obvious that he had been the driveby shooters target, even though it was the two kids, who just happened to be passing by, who ended up bleeding to death on the pavement. The whole thing was a fuckup and everyone was screaming for a name, the press, the commis¬sioner, even the rival firms. Both sides of the law wanted it sorted quickly so they could get a swift return to the status quo.
Whats your view though, Detective Inspector?” Artie put his glass down. You think I did it?”
No.” Cass met his gaze. Not your style.” He meant it too. Artie Mullins had been around a long time. If hed wanted Sam Macintyre taken out, he wouldnt have done it Hollywood Mafia style. Not that my opinion counts for much,” he added. Im only the offi cer in charge. My job is just to do as Im told and take the shit if we dont catch someone.”
It counts to me.” The cold glint had left Arties sunken eyes and Cass felt a small knot untie in his stomach. He wasnt ashamed of being slightly afraid of Arthur Mullins. It was probably a healthy response.
I dont want Macintyre dead.” Artie sniffed. Not yet anyway.
Hes ambitious, but thats not always a bad thing. And the Irish are better than the Yardies. That lot dont have any code. And if I did want him sorted, then I wouldnt have done it so fucking loudly. Id have taken him out somewhere privatesomewhere he wouldnt be found.”
Cass nodded. Thats what I figured. But youre the top dog, Artie. They all think its you. Youre the one whos potentially got the most to lose by Macintyres rise.”
Then youre going to have to convince them otherwise.” Artie winked. Although theyve got no evidence it was me, so they can hang off my arse and follow me around for as long as they want. Suits me fi nesaves me sorting myself out some extra protection while persuad¬ing the Irish this was nothing to do with me.”
But if it wasnt you, it was still someone. Those two kids are still dead.”
Artie nodded. He leaned forward, keeping his voice low so that his drawnout north London mumble was almost a growl. Im no grass, Jonesy, everyone knows that, but if I had something on this one, trust me, Id give it to you. Weve had a nice little balance since we started the arrangement between you lot and us lot. We get on with our busi¬ness and you get on with yours.” He shook his head.
Id never have gone for a hit like that. Not in a public place with schoolkids around. The way I see it is youd have to be one of three things to take a pop at someone like that: plain stupid, a lunatic, or too powerful to care about the consequences.”
Cass wasnt sure if it was the dim lighting or whether a dark shadow passed across Arties face. It was almost like a flash of fear, but Cass found that hard to believe. Who was there for Artie Mullins to be afraid of in the London underworld? The moment passed and the old gangster smiled. And I may be a bit of all three, but not enough of any one of them to make this my doing.” He paused. I rest my case, your honour.”
Ill tell them that back at the station. Im sure theyll take your word for it.”
Artie laughed, and then coughed, the rattle in his chest declaring a lifetime of too many cigarettes and not enough fresh air. You do that.” He waited till the small fit had passed. So if you havent been trying to nick my arse today whats been keeping you so busy?”
They think Bowmans bloody appendix has burst. Ive got to cover his cases until he gets back, but fuck knows when that will be.” He shook his head. So now Im working two murder cases and all be¬cause that bloody jobsworth didnt want to take a couple of days away from his desk.”
He drained his beer and picked up the brown envelope before get¬ting up from his stool. Id better go. Its going to be an early start in the morning and Im not designed for dawn.” He tucked the money inside his jacket. The plainclothes officers who were no doubt watch¬ing the club would know what he was doing here, but there was no point in making it too obvious. Appearances were everything.
Ill do my best to get them off your back, Artie, but all I can advise is sit tight. Weve got no evidence leading back to you, so you know how it goes. Keep up the no comment line if we pull you in and theyll have to back off in the end.”
I know the drill. Done it often enough over the years.” He grinned. Now fuck off before the girls start turning up or youll never leave.”
Cass smiled, although he could feel it was slightly sheepish. He knew his own weaknesses, but he wasnt sure how much he liked other people spotting them that easily. It sometimes felt to Cass that hed spent his life trying to mould himself into a good man, and in most ways hed managed, but when it came to the opposite sex, the leopard couldnt quite get rid of those spots. Hed almost given up trying.
We all have our sins, Artie. Ive learned to live with mine.”
Thats what I like about you, Jonesy. You know your shit smells the same as mine.” Cass headed back towards the stairs and the pave¬ment, where time had been slowly ticking by.
You know, if you ever get bored paying taxes and fancy a change of sides youve always got a job working with me.”
Cass laughed and waved, but didnt answer. He took the stairs two at a time and was happy to get out into the cool night air. In some ways, Artie wasnt that different from the police commissioner. What neither understood was that he just couldnt see things in terms of sides any more. It was just everyone doing their thing, and the way Cass saw it, he sat somewhere in the middle. If he ever had been on the good side, hed lost that place ten years ago when he was undercover. Everyone knew that. There was no going back, no matter how much they all pre¬tended. All things considered, he was pretty happy that hed learned to live with it.