I frowned at Phil—then looked up. There were a couple of cop cars, one of them in plain clothes but with a spinner on the top, coming down the road towards us. No sirens, just the lights.
“You don’t think . . .” I said slowly as they passed us.
We twisted round in our seats, and yep, you guessed it. The cars came to a halt in front of Lilah’s place.
The plod piled out. Phil switched off the engine.
“They’re going to make an arrest, aren’t they?” I said, getting out of the car.
“Must be.” Phil’s tone was grimmer than ever as he joined me on the street.
It’s awkward at a time like this. You feel you ought to do something, but there’s not a lot you can do, is there? Help the client resist arrest? That was assuming it was Lilah they were here for, of course. Christ, if it was one of the kids . . . Well, she’d definitely be in need of support. I started walking towards her house.
Phil grabbed my arm. “Don’t be in too much of a hurry. They won’t thank you for getting in the way.”
No, but Lilah might. But like I said—what could we do except stand there like a couple of gawkers at a sideshow, as much use as a chocolate teapot at a coffee drinkers’ convention?
It was horrible. Lilah was led out in handcuffs, her face defiant. Axel, his hoodie down and headphones off for once, ran out after her and threw a wobbly on the doorstep. He had to be restrained by a couple of uniformed coppers, while his mum screeched at them to leave him alone, she’d have ’em for police brutality, the effing bastards. She didn’t seem to notice me and Phil, which was probably just as well given how she yelled at her neighbour, a pleasant-looking middle-aged lady who’d poked her head out of her front door to see what the fuss was all about to “Go on, have a good gawp, I bet you’re loving this, you stuck-up cow.”
Once Lilah had been driven away and Axel shepherded back indoors by a stony-faced copper, me and Phil knocked on the door. The copper showed no signs of softening up when she answered it. Axel was still in the hallway, leaning against the wall, his hoodie now up and his head down.
“We’re friends of the family,” Phil said.
The copper didn’t look convinced.
Axel looked even less convinced. “You let them take her away! It’s not fair. She didn’t do anything.” He jerked himself away from the wall, which made the policewoman tense up, but instead of doing a runner, he sat down on the stairs and hugged his knees.
Phil coughed and casually planted one of his size elevens just inside the door. “What’s she been arrested for?”
The copper glared at my beloved’s foot like she was strongly tempted to slam the door on it. “I’m afraid I can’t—”
“Murder,” Axel broke in wildly.
“They think she killed Oliver?” I asked.
“What? No. Jonathan.” Axel buried his head once more.
Me and Phil exchanged glances. There must have been some kind of breakthrough, some piece of evidence found. We needed to talk to Dave, pronto.
“Uh, you’re going to get the boy’s dad round to keep an eye on him, right?” I said to the policewoman.
“I’m not a bloody kid! I don’t need—” Axel broke off with a sob. “I want my mum back.”
“Don’t worry, sir. I’ll make sure he’s taken care of.” She said it firmly, in a please go away now and stop upsetting him before I lose it and arrest you too sort of way.
So we went.
I rang Dave as soon as we got back to the car, which was totally because we needed information and not at all because I was avoiding the “Do you think she done it?” conversation with Phil. Dave answered on the first ring, with a tired, “Why am I not surprised it’s you?”
“Are you working today?” I asked, remembering it was Sunday morning.
“When am I ever not?”
“Oi, don’t give me that. You can’t have it both ways. Last time I rang, you were complaining about me interrupting your time off. Which, while we’re on the subject, you’ve been taking plenty of since the New Hope came along.”
“Maybe, but no other bugger’s going to get my paperwork done for me, are they now?”
“You sure you’re not just getting out of the house for some peace and quiet?”
“You tell the wife that and you can kiss goodbye to any more favours from this direction. So to what do I owe the very dubious pleasure? As if I couldn’t guess.”
“You’re aware they arrested our client five minutes ago, then?”
“Got you on speed dial, has she? Or did she send up the bat signal the minute they knocked on her door? What is it in your case—a pair of crossed pipe wrenches? Or a bloody crystal ball?”
I decided to ignore the digs at my profession(s). “We were there. We practically tag-teamed your lot on the doormat. So come on, what have they got on her?”
“You do realise informing members of the public about police investigations is not, actually, part of my job? To the extent of being specifically frowned upon? A DCI has to think about these things. Can’t go setting a bad example.”
“Yeah, but . . . Come on, Dave. We’re mates. And you know I wouldn’t do anything to, uh, pervert the course of justice or whatever you call it.”
There was a heavy sigh down the phone that nearly blew out my eardrums. “You know what the really tragic part is? You and Morrison would owe me so bloody many nights babysitting, if only I could believe either of you knows which end of a nipper is up.”
“The noisy end goes up, the smelly end goes down. Easy. Book us in for Friday night.” I fought the urge to cross my fingers he wouldn’t. “So what have they got on Lilah?”
“They found his phone. Which you did not hear from me.”
“Whose?”
“Whose do you bloody think? Parrot’s. It’d been chucked in the water, or fell in when he got bashed on the head”—and yeah, I noticed that was apparently now an established fact—“but they managed to dry it out and get the records off it. Message from one Lilah Parrot, nee Lovett, shortly before her husband went for an unseasonal swim: Meet me down by the canal.”
“What?” My gob was thoroughly smacked. “But that’s . . . Didn’t she have an alibi for when he got offed?”
“Haven’t you heard, Paretski? Only the guilty bother getting themselves an alibi.” Dave sighed. “Got to hand it to you. I always thought you had bleeding tragic taste in men, but your choice of clients tops that, easy.”
“But . . . why? I mean, why would she kill him?”
“Is that a serious question? Bloody hell, he ran out on her; he was probably cheating on her; if she asked for a divorce, he’d probably take her for every penny . . . What more do you want?”
She didn’t mind the cheating. She told us so, I didn’t say, because even as I thought it, I realised how bloody stupid it’d sound. “So Kelvin Reid is in the clear?” I asked instead.
“For the Parrot murder, yeah. And don’t quote me on this, but they’ll be trying to pin the Proudfoot one on your girlfriend and all.”
“Lilah? She’s well under five foot, for Christ’s sake. How’s she supposed to have shoved a strapping lad like Oliver over his own garden wall?” Okay, so strapping was pushing it, but the idea was still pretty far-fetched.
“No room for ableist attitudes in your modern constabulary. And I never said she was acting alone, now did I?”
“Who else have your lot got their eye on, then?”
There was another heavy sigh. “The DI’s playing it close to his chest, but her and Tarbox are each other’s alibis for when Parrot took that dive. Claimed they were working at the office until eight, by which time Parrot was already very literally sleeping with the fishes. So if she goes down, Tarbox is going with her. Whether he helped her out on the job or just after the fact for old times’ sake, I don’t know.”
“What about Oliver?”
“What about him?”
“Uh, why would they want to kill him?”
“Word is, him and Parrot were having it away, so there’s Lilah’s motive for you.”
“Yeah, we heard about that,” I said incautiously.
Phil was prodding at me. I frowned at him, tried to make out the words he was mouthing at me over the sound of Dave’s swearing, and swiftly gave up. “Hang on a mo, Dave.” I covered the bit you speak into with a finger. “What?”
“Ask him about Lilah’s package. Did they find it?”
I uncovered the phone. “Dave?”
“Still here. Waiting to see if there’s any other minor little details you’ve been holding out on us, like a signed bloody confession from the murderer, maybe?”
“What? Nah, that was . . . We didn’t know for sure about Jonny-boy and Oliver until this morning. Listen, I wanted to ask: did you find Lilah’s package? The one she had me and Phil deliver.”
“Have I mentioned this isn’t my case?”
“Not in the last thirty seconds or so.”
Dave sighed. “Hold your horses.” There was the muffled sound of computer keys being pressed and expletives being uttered. It went on so flippin’ long I was practically climbing out of my car seat in frustration.
“No,” was Dave’s final reply. “It’s on the action list. Priority low.”
“Cheers, Dave. I owe you.” I hung up and reported what he’d said to Phil, whose expression suggested he had a similar view to mine of that priority level. Because what I reckoned, now I’d had a chance to think about it, was that if Lilah had killed her Jonny-boy, that package was key.
And okay, maybe I also wanted to be reassured I hadn’t delivered a death warrant.
“Camden?” I asked.
“Camden,” Phil said grimly, and pulled the car out onto the road.
“He’s got to be on the stall today, right?” I asked as we drove down to Hampstead, where we could hop on the Tube. “I mean, Sunday’s got to be a busy day, with all your tourists and whatnot, and it’s not like he’s got Jonathan to run it for him now.”
“Doesn’t matter. If he’s not there, we can catch him at home. It’s still early for anyone who’s not working to be out.”
“Have we got his address?”
Phil nodded. “Electoral register.”
I grinned. “It’s like I’ve always said: just because the politicians are all useless tossers doesn’t mean there’s no benefit to living in a democracy.”