Now
‘Him, not her,’ Molly says, rising from the sofa and coming over to the gallery wall. ‘No, I don’t know what happened to him. Oona – his mother – dropped off the scene after that. She wouldn’t even come back to the camp to collect him. I took him to her parents’ house and she picked him up from there.’
Ella’s heart is hammering. They’re so close, Kelman there on the wall in front of them, holding the woman’s shoulders as she’s hauled off towards the waiting van. Less than a week later he was the one being lifted from the ground by uniformed men, bleeding and unconscious, not expected to survive the journey or the night.
Ella wets her lips, tries to sound casual. ‘Why did she stop protesting?’
‘Because she was assaulted,’ Molly says, tapping the photo. ‘By that bastard. PC Gareth Kelman. It happened while she was in a holding cell. He told her not to bother reporting it because she was just some stupid dyke and nobody’d believe her.’
‘Did she report it?’ Ella asks.
‘No.’
‘Why?’
‘Because back then the police had all the power.’ Molly turns away, but Ella catches a hint of satisfaction crinkling her heavily painted eyes. ‘Nobody would have believed her. We were hated, Ella. You’ve got no idea. We were seen as disrupting the natural order because we were out protesting rather than playing the dutiful wifeys and girlfriends.’
Molly’s drifting off-track into one of her speeches about patriarchy and how they’d dealt it a heavy blow, just by refusing to be called home when it was time to make dinner. Ella needs to bring her back to Kelman.
‘So, he got away with it?’ Ella asks. ‘Like Pearce did with me.’
‘Neither of them got away with it.’
Across the room Molly is searching down the back of the sofa, an unlit cigarette hanging from her bottom lip. She plunges her hands between the cushions, comes up with loose change and a hair clip and stops when she brings out a small wooden-handled pocket knife.
Callum’s, Ella guesses, but she doesn’t ask, because that would only drag them further away from where she needs to be. She pretends she hasn’t noticed and watches out of the corner of her eye as Molly puts it back where she found it.
‘What happened to Kelman, then?’
‘Hmm?’ Molly starts going through her desk drawers, rattling the contents. ‘What about what now?’
‘Kelman?’ Ella asks, sure she’s given something away by the inflection she put on the first syllable. ‘Did he do it to someone else? Did they report him?’
‘He’d done it to others before Oona. Three that we knew of for sure, maybe others. A lot of women came and went, only stayed for a few weeks, and lots left after being arrested, so. . .’
She lets out a triumphant growl when she finally finds a lighter under the cushion on her leatherette office chair, but after four strikes without a flame, she tosses it into the bin and resumes her search, heading into the kitchen.
Ella closes her eyes for a moment, feels the nervous griping in her stomach and the sensation of fear, like a heavy hand, wrapped around the back of her neck. This is it, her one chance, make or break. She takes a deep breath, hearing Molly swearing in the kitchen, exhales slowly.
‘But surely if several of the women could corroborate each other’s statements somebody would have had to listen to them,’ she says.
‘Who’d listen?’ Molly asks, stalking out of the kitchen. ‘The press? They weren’t any better.’
There’s a strange energy sparking around her. She’s moving differently, almost prowling, the way Ella has seen her behave on demonstrations, like she can drop thirty years off her body at will, and revert to that wild and lethal young woman she’d once been. The one in the book Martin Sinclair showed her.
This is who attacked Kelman and, seeing the transformation happening in close quarters, constrained by the dimensions of the flat, Ella can believe she did the deed.
She hadn’t believed it before. Not entirely.
When she’d struck her deal with Kelman three hours ago, in the living room of Peggy Armstrong’s Islington townhouse, she was just hoping for the best. Now, Molly’s back there in her memory and her movements are giving her away.
‘I don’t understand,’ Ella says. ‘How do you mean, “neither of them got away with it”? Do you mean, like, karma caught up with him?’
Molly hauls the sliding door open on to the balcony.
‘Oh, Ella, kitten. Not karma. Karma’s a lie the system sells people so they don’t fight back. More “the meek shall inherit the earth” bollocks. You have to be the agent of karma if you want to see it take someone down.’
She goes out on to the balcony and a moment later Ella hears a lighter strike and sees a small red point burning through the reflection of the room laid across the glass door.
When Molly doesn’t come back inside, Ella goes out to her, finds her leaning on the wall, looking across the river.
‘Kelman was attacked,’ Molly says. ‘Hit in the head with a hammer.’
‘Did he die?’
‘No.’
‘Shame.’
‘Yeah. If I had my time again I’d have hung around and finished the job. Or maybe I’d have used a bigger hammer.’ She turns to Ella and smiles. ‘You know what’s funny, though? Someone saw me. Some guy out walking his dog. He clocked Kelman’s uniform and he just nods at me, and goes, “Nice one, girl.” He could have identified me in a flash, but he hated the police so much he never went to them with what he saw.’
Ella grins at Molly, who reads it as amusement rather than the relief it really is and starts to laugh, keeps laughing so hard that her eyes began to water. When she finally stops, she wipes her face dry, smearing her kohl liner across her temples, like warpaint.
It doesn’t feel how Ella expected.
There’s no elation but no guilt either. She guesses this numbness is a defence mechanism her body has triggered to keep her going until she’s away from Molly. She knows that later she’ll be a mess, because despite everything, she and Molly have been close. Molly has been like a mother to her in some ways. It’s not a lie. She’ll miss her when she’s locked up.
And that’s going to happen. The deal she’s struck depends on it.
Kelman gets his closure and in return he lets her stay out in the field.
Initially there was some resistance over the feasibility of her plan but Ella had the angles all worked out. This recording she’s making, via a pin-sized microphone inside her collar, will never go into evidence. Molly can never be charged with Kelman’s attempted murder because that would compromise Ella’s position.
But the Pearce family need closure too: a trial and a guilty party, and that will be Molly. While Ella’s samples will become corrupted in a private forensics lab with a notoriously bad track record, Molly’s will be found to match DNA on his body. The distinctive red fibres from the coat she wore to the party recovered from his clothing and hair.
And Molly will take the fall because the alternative is both of them being sent down, and she won’t let that happen. Molly won’t grass or cut a deal to get her own sentence reduced. It’s not in her nature. She wants to save people. Do the right thing by her friends, even if it means throwing herself to the wolves.
Ella watches her struggling to get another cigarette lit in the swirling wind blowing up off the site and reaches out to cup her hands around the flame.
Prison won’t be too hard on Molly, she thinks. She’s used to being among other women; she prefers their company, especially the damaged sort she’ll find in there. It will be the family Ella’s sure she’s always craved, the unconventional kind, thrown together in adversity and bonded in defiance.
And she’ll make sure Molly is as comfortable as possible. Visit her whenever she can, take in books and magazines, give her money so she can buy whatever perks are on offer inside. It might even be better for her than what’s coming on the outside: losing her home, being forced out of the city into some dreary suburb far beyond the M25. Molly has told her often enough that she’d rather be dead than leave London and Ella believes her.
Molly is looking at her, squinting through the heat rising off her cigarette as she inhales.
‘Kelman’s in charge of Special Operations now, isn’t he?’
A sensation like plunging into icy water.
‘That’s what Sinclair told me, anyway.’ Molly turns to face her full on, wearing a smile of grim satisfaction. ‘Which would make him your boss, right?’
She can’t speak.
‘Are you recording this conversation?’ Molly asks, moving in close, bringing her mouth towards Ella’s collar. ‘Is he listening right now?’
‘This is mad,’ Ella forces the words out, hearing how weak they sound. ‘Molly, I know you’ve been under a lot of stress the last few weeks but this is pure insanity.’
‘I thought so too. But Sinclair worked the whole thing out. You should never, ever, fuck with a hack, Ella. They have vindictive natures and the best sources. He knew you were an undercover copper way back, but he’s been biding his time, gathering the evidence.’
Molly jabs her fingers in Ella’s face and she recoils from the tip of the cigarette.
‘It’s all going to come out and there’s no lie big enough or smart enough to get you out from under this.’
Ella can’t stay standing much longer. She wants to drop into a protective crouch, curl up and hide. But Molly keeps coming towards her, one determined step after another.
‘I trusted you.’
It’s over.
‘I vouched for you.’
She’s lost.
‘I helped cover up a murder to keep you safe.’
The wind is rising, battering her face. She thinks of Dylan, listening to this, and wonders if he’s happy that she’s failed or if he feels sorry for her. Did he ever feel anything for her? Armstrong’s going to be furious. Kelman even more so. They’ve given her a chance none of them thought she deserved and she’s blown it.
She isn’t the best. No more top of the class. No more sharp operator.
Adam Pearce has got his revenge on her, finally. Dead as he is, he’s won.
‘Was it always about this?’ Molly asks, swollen with fury, taller and more menacing than Ella has ever seen her. ‘Did Kelman put you in the field to get close to me so I’d confess?’
There are no more moves left.
‘After all these fucking years, he still wanted to get me.’
Maybe one.
One last desperate play.
Ella cocks her head, leans towards Molly. ‘You really do have an overinflated opinion of yourself, don’t you?’
Molly bares her teeth, like an animal.
‘We were never interested in you. You’re a nobody, a hanger- on.’ Ella sees the hurt begin to shrivel her. ‘We wanted Carol. She was my target right from the start. You were just somebody who could get me to her.’
‘Then you failed,’ Molly snaps. ‘Because she never trusted you.’
They’re toe to toe, breathing in each other’s exhalations and the smell of fear coming off one another’s bodies. Ella shifts her weight, plants her feet firmly, trying to ignore the weakness in her knees.
‘Maybe not, but you trusted me, Mol.’ She shakes her head. ‘How the hell did you last so long being such a sucker?’
Molly lashes out and Ella grabs her as the slap connects with her cheek, not painful enough to break her momentum. She slams Molly into the waist-high wall and hears all the air rush out of her lungs. She buckles, groaning. Her full weight falls against Ella and she grits her teeth as she shoves Molly against the wall again. Molly tries to brace herself. She knows what’s coming.
‘Are you going to kill me, Ella?’ Desperation in her voice.
Ella ignores her, keeps shoving and hoisting, trying to find the extra power she needs to send her over the edge. Molly’s boots scrape frantically against the brickwork. She kicks out but Ella holds on to her.
‘Getting rid of me changes nothing,’ Molly says, her hands closing around Ella’s wrists, nails digging in, rings grinding against bone. ‘You won’t be able to live with it. I know you. You will never have a moment’s peace again if you do this.’
She’s babbling. But she’s right. There’s no coming back from this. No stopping the inevitable reckoning. Sinclair’s article will still run. The truth will still be revealed.
Ella loosens her grip a fraction, thinking of her parents and how crushed they’ll be by this. Then Molly strikes out at her. Snarling, she grabs Ella under the arms and lifts her off her feet with a terrible and furious force.
The sky fills Ella’s vision, pink and starless as Molly shoves her over the parapet. She feels the solidness of the wall under her hips and air under her shoulders. Nothing between the back of her head and the ground three storeys below. She throws her arm around Molly’s neck, trying to anchor herself.
‘You don’t get to walk away from this.’ Molly’s face is tight with rage and contempt. ‘You don’t get to wreck people’s lives and just restart yours like nothing happened.’
Ella twists and wriggles but Molly has her solidly pinned across the wall. The bricks are cutting through her jumper, sawing at her skin as she tries to get free.
‘Just think, your copper mates can hear all this but they’ve not come to help you,’ Molly says. ‘They’re letting this play out, hoping I make their problem go away. That’s how important you are to them.’
Ella tries to claw at her face but can’t reach. The fight is draining out of her.
This is it.
‘You picked the wrong side, sweetheart.’
Molly leans over her, so close that Ella can see every feather mark in her kohl liner and every fleck of gold in her dark-brown eyes. She reaches up and twists her fingers into Molly’s hair, turns and knots it around her fist, and she sees the realisation slacken Molly’s mouth and feels her stiffen a split second too late.
And they’re falling.