London Noir: A gripping crime suspense thriller (Kal Medi Book 2) Read online

  No kid gloves today, thought Marty. It almost sounded like an accusation.

  ‘An undercover job? You’re going to go in below the radar? Are you sure you’re up to it?’ Marty said.

  ‘Under the radar, yes, but not me,’ Kal said. ‘I’ve already been there and they know me, which leaves…’

  Marty almost choked. ‘Shit, no. You know how I hate anything the wrong side of the law. I can’t.’

  ‘It’ll be easy. Listen, you’ve already got the perfect, natural cover story so you won’t need to make anything up – you were attacked and left for dead, and since then you’ve not been able to get back on track, you have nightmares, you think someone’s following you. Isn’t that just perfect? You can turn up at Melrose for psychological support. Say you can’t face going back to work.’

  Marty shifted uncomfortably. ‘All of that undercover stuff is your thing, not mine. I wouldn’t know where to start.’

  ‘Yes, you will. And ask around because the other patients are the key. Stay overnight and get as much information as you can. Meanwhile, I’ll tackle Sugar G. What do you say?’

  ‘I say “no”’, Marty said, knowing full well that she had no choice.

  ***

  Marty and Kal headed out and once they’d gone, Sophie threw the rest of the bagels in the bin.

  She sat on the settee stroking Purdy. Everyone always commented on Charlotte’s artistic abilities. Sophie knew from an early age her mother chose the hallway for her mural on purpose – so she could show off. Even as a child, Sophie knew what her mother was like and how she enjoyed people admiring her. Even perfect strangers. Sophie didn’t care, and she didn’t care her mother was a prostitute.

  A long time ago, Penny told Sophie how her mum got into debt at college. Couldn’t pay her fees. She turned to prostitution and Penny was already in the “profession” and she’d helped Charlotte cope in those early days. Sophie thought Penny was the best friend her mum ever had. Aren’t the best friends the ones who help you when you’re down?

  Mr Connell hadn’t wanted to talk about Charlotte because somehow he knew about the prostitution. And Connell was clever. He’d promised Dr Kaufman he’d not talk about Charlotte, except he’d found a way around that because, instead, he talked to Sophie about how her art work was so like her mother’s. Sophie’s choice of colours, the way she viewed and portrayed her art – so similar to Charlotte. And in this way, he’d brought Charlotte alive in Sophie’s imagination.

  Sophie pressed her fists to her temples. She knew that if she paused it would all come rushing back. That’s why she made certain not to stop. Perhaps Marty would uncover the past at Melrose and perhaps she wouldn’t. Either way, Sophie needed to act fast because it wasn’t yet time for other people to know the truth.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  ‘Good afternoon, Ms King. I see you’re scheduled for a psychological assessment with one of our consultant psychiatrists. Let me check, oh yes, you requested Dr Kaufman,’ the receptionist said. ‘Please fill out these papers and take a seat in the lounge. It says you’ve asked to be admitted for in-patient care and Dr Kaufman will advise you of the possibilities. Please don’t worry, you will be thoroughly looked after here.’

  At nine hundred pounds per night basic, plus professional consultation fees, Marty was sure she would be.

  Marty grabbed the clipboard and the appreciable stack of papers. On top was the medical fee list. This was so not her style. Her hands were sweaty and she felt certain the woman at the desk already highlighted her as an imposter. Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself, you’ve got as much right as anyone to be here. Just chill out. And Kal was right, Marty wasn’t breaking any of her own rules so she shouldn’t let her conscience get the better of her. Gathering information and asking a few questions wasn’t criminal behaviour. She could live with it.

  Decked out like an exclusive hotel, the lounge had plenty of cosy corners and Marty chose one of them. Classical music played in the background and a tropical aquarium took up the space of one wall, with bright fish moving in crystal clear water. Two other people shared the space with her. A woman in her mid-forties, who was intent on a massive jigsaw puzzle of what, so far, looked like a scene of mount Fuji. The other was a man a little older than Marty, late thirties perhaps, who played a computer racing car game, earphones plugged to the sides of his head. Marty relaxed a little. This place had the vibe of a private hospital rather than a psychiatric clinic.

  Twenty pages of paperwork and medical questions later, Marty sat back. She ran through the mental checklist Kal had gone through with her – first and foremost she must stick with her story and not veer off it by one iota, that was the key to success with any undercover operation, Kal said. Then Marty must chat with all patients she met and find out their take on Melrose. Then get into the adolescent wing and find Seb. And get the lowdown on Kaufman, and then get out. Yes, thought Marty, she was a technical specialist with absolutely no experience of going undercover, but she could do that.

  It wasn’t long before the receptionist came to find her.

  ‘Ms King, Dr Kaufman is ready for you now. This way please, third door on the right.’

  This is it, thought Marty, time to step up to the challenge.

  ***

  ‘So, in summary, you’ve been finding it impossible to sleep. The nightmare of being attacked keeps returning in a way that’s so real you feel it’s happening currently. Plus you’re experiencing a daytime paranoia of being followed. All this is perfectly normal after a deeply traumatic incident such as the one you describe,’ Dr Kaufman said.

  Marty agreed, in what she hoped was a convincing way. Forty-five minutes into their consultation and surely Kaufman realised she had no legitimate reason to be here? Kaufman had a clinical white jacket which was unbuttoned. Beneath, he wore a blue shirt and tie. Short brown hair, plain features, no extravagances. She’d place him in his fifties but she couldn’t say much more about him – she didn’t have Kal’s psychological insights or training. Her gut instinct would have to do, and it told her he was an experienced, mature practitioner. Nothing sinister here.

  ‘That’s right, doctor,’ she said.

  ‘And I see you’ve described yourself as someone not usually prone to stress.’

  ‘No, people say I’ve got my feet on the ground. That’s why this is so difficult to cope with. It just isn’t me.’ And this interview wasn’t her either.

  ‘Well, I think our facility will be able to help you through this rough patch, Marty. I recommend daily counselling and an afternoon session with our specialist relaxation therapist and you and I will meet in a week’s time to discuss your progress. I shall ask my secretary to prepare the financial details for you, unless, of course, you feel that type of budget is beyond your reach? In which case I could suggest a regime a little more tailored?’

  Wow, that was blunt. Patronising bastard. Besides, Sophie was paying for this privilege. She’d offered the funds willingly.

  ‘Your first suggestion sounds perfect,’ Marty said. ‘It’s just the boost I need.’

  ‘Precisely,’ said Kaufman. He signed a form with his gold pen and pushed it across the desk for Marty to add her signature. Then Kaufman showed her to the door and he offered his hand. She shook it. How odd, his palm and fingers felt smooth like a woman’s and she wondered if Kaufman might have some sort of fetish. Perhaps he oiled his hands or had a weekly manicure. When she was out of his sight, Marty raised her hands to her nose – they smelled faintly of oranges from whatever products Kaufman used on his skin. Marty felt sure Kal would have something deep to say about that but as far as Marty could see, the man was perfectly normal.

  Marty let out a sigh. Job done. And she mentally ticked the box with Kaufman’s name against it.

  Marty was good at talking with people. She soon found out the woman doing the jigsaw was the mother of twin boys, who had both joined the army and been killed in action in Afghanistan. The woman was being treated for bouts of
depression and she carried a picture of her sons in her pocket. Two smiling young men, handsome in their uniforms, determination in their features. Marty had to push back tears when the woman told their stories – no wonder the woman needed support.

  The man playing on the console was less forthcoming but once Marty beat his time score on the game, he told her he was a regular at Melrose. He’d been unable to kick his addiction to prescription painkillers which he’d latched onto after a climbing accident that fractured his pelvis, his skull and his legs.

  Try as she might, Marty uncovered nothing sinister. Everyone she spoke to had nothing but good to report about the clinic, the doctors, the standard of care and the nurses. This was turning into a waste of time. Why had she been worried about what she was letting herself in for? Marty’s thoughts turned to Kal. How was Kal coping with Sugar G? Shouldn’t Marty have gone with her? Damn, don’t say she was going to be in the wrong place at the wrong time again. To make it worse, Marty was next obliged to take part in a two-hour private relaxation session in which she spent half the time in a flotation tank with dimmed lighting and mood music. All that occupied her mind during the floating was what the hell Kal might be up to, and what risk Kal was putting herself in with no one to watch her back.

  It wasn’t until later in the evening Marty was able to sneak over to the adolescent wing.

  It was a mirror image of the adult side. Marty didn’t run into any security that stopped her from entering. Kal had described Seb as having dark, curly hair and young features and a face that looked like it never smiled. He wasn’t in the lounge, nor the dining area, so Marty took her chance down the corridor with the private rooms – a chess player in the lounge had told her which room to look for.

  This wasn’t criminal activity, but hell, creeping down that corridor Marty felt like a criminal. She felt like she was her low life father. A man who was a mugger and a petty thief. A man who beat Marty’s mother. That’s why Marty always refused to step over the line. Always clung to her own ethics. Because she detested deception. Detested lies. Detested-

  ‘Hey, adult patients aren’t supposed to come over this side. You’ll get into trouble.’

  It was Seb, she was sure of it. A young man with a very young face, and just as Kal described, Marty could see tragedy and pain etched into his features. It looked like he’d never laughed in his life.

  ‘I was looking for you,’ she said.

  ‘Wayne told me a black woman was after me,’ Seb said, eyeing her suspiciously.

  Marty paused. Kal had told Marty about Eliza’s terrible history and she’d recounted Sophie’s own story. Now, with this frail young man in front of her, Marty suddenly knew why Kal stepped over the line. Why she took risks. Why Kal put her own life in danger. Yes, she did it because sometimes people were so far away, so lost like Seb, it was the only way to help them.

  Seb stepped back. ‘And Wayne told me to watch out.’

  Slowly, Marty put her hand in her pocket and pulled out a piece of rose quartz. The pink crystal fitted in her palm. It had come from Kal’s apartment and Sophie said it was just the thing Seb loved.

  ‘I brought something for you, from Sophie.’

  ‘Is this a trick?’

  ‘No, it isn’t. I need to talk to you, it’s about Sophie and-‘

  ‘Stop right there.’

  Marty swung round.

  ‘Ms King what are you doing in the young people’s quarters? Step back, Seb. I believe she could be dangerous. Well done young Wayne for raising the alarm.’

  Dr Kaufman had his hand on the shoulder of the chess player from the lounge, presumably Wayne. As the doctor’s other hand came into view, Marty recoiled. Kaufman held a syringe.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? Get away from me with that shit.’

  But Kaufman was on her in a second and Marty hadn’t yet recovered her speed or her strength. He pushed the needle into her skin. ‘Stay calm, Marty. You’ve placed yourself in my care and I intend to fulfil my obligations.’

  Marty’s legs turned to jelly and she sat down with a thud. ‘This is wrong. I’m not ill. I want to leave.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Marty,’ said Dr Kaufman, ‘my assessment has shown otherwise, and you’ve given me full authority to treat you. You will be well cared for at Melrose, don’t you worry.’

  No, no, she thought, scrabbling to stay upright. Her vision was blurring with Kaufman going in and out of focus and Marty toppled, face first onto the carpet.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Should she team up with LeeMing, thought Kal? It would be wiser, but Kal knew she couldn’t waste a second. At every vibration of her phone, she jumped, dreading it to be her summons back to the warehouse. Raphael had her trapped. He had her sweating and stressing just like he wanted. So stressed, she couldn’t think straight and that was a grave mistake. Don’t let the enemy mess with your mind. Never let the enemy infiltrate your thoughts. If you did, they’d won.

  Kal chose black jeans and t-shirt. She must be stealthy and not scary enough to frighten any women she might encounter or raise their suspicions. So she added lip colour and left her hair loose. She must keep focused using her discipline. You can do it, she told herself. You’ve got enough reserves to deal with this. Sugar G was a dangerous man and she must flush him out and get answers, and she mustn’t slip up whilst doing it, even with the threat of Raphael hanging over her.

  Montgomery Road lay quiet. Kal took a side turn, coming out on the street behind. These two roads had back-to-back gardens and she found the side gate and then the low fence she’d jumped in the dark. The houses behind Montgomery watched her back, the first and second floor windows hanging with net curtains, which made it impossible to know if she were being observed. Too bad – she’d have to take the risk. If she was fast enough, she could make it in and out in time, even if one of the neighbours alerted the police.

  Kal leapt another fence and then another, and ran through the gardens until she reached the back garden of number forty-one. At the last fence, she landed in a patch of nettles and swore loudly and hotly. Keep it together. Don’t lose it. Ignoring the welts from the nettles, she ran straight for the cleaning closet window. It was tightly closed and immune to the tools she tried to prise it open with. Damn.

  The windows were sash style and Kal toured the back of the property searching for her way in. To any domestic property there would always be an opening – a loose latch, a round bathroom ventilator that could be knocked out to give access to her arm so that she could reach in and open the window catch, an unlocked or faulty basement door. Kal studied each opening carefully until she identified where the human nature of the occupants had won against all their safety protocols; one of the kitchen windows was cracked open for ventilation. Perfect.

  As she levered herself into the house, Kal’s training kicked in harder and she focused her attention on sounds. A dripping tap. The low hum of electricity from a kitchen appliance. She waited, crouched in front of the sink. No voices. No footsteps. No television or radio. In front of her, the breakfast counter was strewn with bits of bread and open jars of jam and marmalade in a help-yourself arrangement. Hopefully, the women who wanted breakfast had already been down here. Kal stood up and made her way to the kitchen door. Most of the women must be asleep at this time of day, resting and recovering after a long night.

  In case one of the women took her by surprise, Kal grabbed a piece of toast, ready to take a huge bite and mutter a ‘hello’ with her mouth full. It would probably be enough to put most people off the trail. Adrenalin was pumping, keeping her mind clear. Subterfuge was about having the guts to pull it off and she had plenty of that. What she needed right now was a bit of luck.

  As Kal navigated her way down corridors and up and down half stairways, not a single person seemed awake. The layout of the house was imprinted in her mind and Kal continued until she came to the door of Sugar G’s games room. This was the place where she might find answers. Where she could search
for ideas and clues and pry into the secret life of the pimp. Where she could gather the intelligence she needed to use against him.

  Kal tossed the bread and gave the door a tiny push with her fingertips. It swung quietly open and her heart rate spiked when she saw Sugar G‘s back. He sat in the middle of the room, in front of a console, absorbed by the screen and with headphones on his ears. This was a complication. Kal hesitated. There was no question in her mind about turning back. She must continue, because a good operative never flinches and turns all situations to their advantage. So, how to turn this to her advantage? How could she approach Sugar G without riling him into knifing her? Kal knew there was only one option, and that was to talk her way in and manage to talk him down. Then use the exchange to get as much as she could.

  Kal controlled her breathing. Sugar G was in front of a games experience and sound must be pumping into his ears. She stole into the room, closing the distance between them, step by careful step. It would be best with a man like Sugar G not to surprise him, so she would stop halfway and-

  ‘Stay right where you are.’

  Kal froze. In the few moments of silence, she heard her own pulse thundering in her temples. Sugar G had spoken without turning around. Staring at his back and hearing his cold command had a chilling effect on her. Worse than that, it made him hard to read, which put her in a perilous position. Come on, you can do it. Work it to your advantage. Kal forced herself to speak and to keep it light.

  ‘How did you know?’

  There’d been no cameras and no electronic detection as far as she could tell. But then a certain type of person knows when there’s an intruder. Especially someone as used to living under the radar as Sugar G. People like that don’t need apparatus. They’ve sat up alone so many nights, they know the sounds of their own house and their subconscious gives them a warning.