‘Meaning?’ said Famie.
‘There’s another theory being discussed by colleagues,’ said Hunter, ‘which has you far closer to the original crime.’ She paused. ‘How would you describe your relationship with Mary Lawson?’
‘What?’ spluttered Famie. ‘Why are we—’
‘Answer the question, please.’
Famie felt Charlie’s arm through hers. She knew what it meant. She breathed deeply. ‘She was … was my friend. An inspiration. To me, to everyone.’ Famie stopped there, anticipating the next question.
‘Who stole your boyfriend.’
Charlie’s arm tugged slightly.
‘Yes,’ said Famie, flatly. ‘Who stole my boyfriend, if you want to put it like that. So what?’
Another inaudible burst from Espie’s radio. Hunter gave a pained smile.
‘This other theory I mentioned has you incensed, understandably, at Seth Hussain’s and Mary Lawson’s betrayal. And that your time in Pakistan gave you contacts with all kinds of fringe groups. Paramilitaries, criminals, terrorists.’
‘Wait,’ said Famie. ‘You think I killed Seth and Mary? Because I was mad at them?’ She gave a short, percussive laugh. ‘And the rest of the team were what? Collateral damage? You must be out of your mind.’ She stood up. ‘Really this is pretty desperate stuff.’
Charlie tugged her down again. ‘What do you think of this theory, DC Hunter?’ she said.
Hunter nodded at Espie, who produced a thin grey cardboard file. She handed it to Hunter who removed a few sheets of A4.
‘You invited us to go through your records of your time in Pakistan,’ she said. ‘You said that everything there is to know about your time there we could get from the IPS records.’ She handed the papers to Famie. ‘So we did. The first two sheets are a list of those meetings and, as far as we could ascertain, who was present. As you said, the usual mix of army and politicians with a few warlords here and there.’
Famie flicked through the sheets which had been fastened with a small metal clip. ‘Someone has been busy,’ she said. The last sheet was a photo of Seth and Amal Hussain together. Heads and shoulders, suits and ties. In this image, Seth was the happier of the two. His smile seemed warm and unforced, Amal was expressionless. Like he didn’t know anyone was taking his picture. There were other people around them – Famie could see shoulders and hair at the edges of the picture – but the brothers were the focus. She turned it face down on the bed.
‘Seen that before?’ asked Hunter.
‘No.’
‘Recent?’
Famie looked again. ‘I’d say so, yes.’ She replaced it face down, returned to the other pages.
‘The second sheet has only five names on it,’ said Hunter, ‘but each one you met in Pakistan and each one is, or has been in the last year, active in London. Three work in the embassy, one has a jihadi website, the other works for “community groups”.’ She mimed the quotes.
‘You mean a gangster?’ asked Famie.
‘Pretty much.’
‘And they all helped me execute my colleagues, did they?’
‘One or more could have, yes. Like I said, that’s the theory. You have links to the Hussain brothers, dead and alive.’ She pointed to the photo. ‘And they have links to the dark side, all the names on that list. It’s all too much of a coincidence. You’re the link, Ms Madden.’
‘Except that I’m not,’ said Famie. ‘And Seth worked with human rights groups. All his life.’
‘But was in huge debt,’ said Hunter. ‘And guess who was in the process of paying off those debts?’
Famie felt her energy drain. ‘Our gangster slash community leader?’ she said.
Hunter nodded.
One more sheet. Seth’s bank statement. Crazy numbers in the credit column.
‘You might not have wanted them all dead,’ said Hunter, ‘but you sure had reason for getting rid of Seth Hussain and Mary Lawson. You hated them and wanted revenge. You set the wheels in motion, your underworld connections took it from there.’
Charlie snorted with derision. ‘Mum’s “underworld connections”? Can you actually hear yourself? The same contacts who tried to kill me then break into our flat?’
Hunter tried to focus again on Famie. ‘Ms Madden—’
‘Wait,’ interrupted Charlie, shouting now. ‘Do you mean those contacts?’
‘Charlie—’
‘Those contacts? Yes or no?’
‘It’s possible.’ Hunter didn’t sound convinced.
‘No it isn’t. It isn’t possible. And you know it.’
‘You’re a journalist,’ said Hunter to Famie, ‘you’d run the story.’ She checked her watch.
‘If I ran this story, I’d be sued for libel. I’m assuming it’s Milne that’s pushing this bullshit?’ Hunter looked awkward and Famie nodded. ‘Thought so. And I notice you didn’t answer Charlie’s question. What do you think of this “theory”?’ More mimed quotes.
A beat, then Espie pushed herself off the door. Checked her watch. ‘She thinks it’s bullshit too,’ she said. The sing-song rise and fall of a Birmingham accent.
‘Bingo,’ said Famie. ‘So we are doing this because …?’ She looked between Hunter and Espie.
Hunter paused only briefly. ‘Because we have our orders. Famie Madden, I’m arresting you for the murder of Mary Lawson, Seth Hussain, Harry Thomas, Sarah Thompson, Brian Hall, Sathnam Stanley and Anita Cross.’
Charlie was on her feet, screaming.
Famie started to laugh.
73
7.54 a.m.
TALBOT PULLED UP outside 26 Boxer Street. He’d killed the siren, kept the lights. Twenty metres ahead, a white delivery van had stopped in the middle of the road, hazard lights also flashing. A uniformed woman leapt from the cab. Brown skin, mid-thirties, hair tied high, sunglasses perched on her head. She approached the police car. Roberts and Talbot jumped out, pulled their caps on. She was talking already.
‘Done this for three years,’ she said. ‘I know what I’m doing, I’m here all the time. I had a dead woman last January. She’d fallen in the kitchen and when I was pushing the note through the door you could smell that something wasn’t right.’ She pulled on a vape, vast clouds of sweet-scented smoke billowing between them. ‘Straight out, like
