Free The Informant by Susan Wilkins Page A

‘Fact is, we get on with it, don’t we. Do the job as best we can. Surely we’re on the same side you and
me?’
    Helen inclined her head and laughed. ‘Nice speech. I’m still not buying.’
    Turnbull let his gaze travel round the room, then he zoned back in on her. ‘Well no one comes to these things for fun, do they? So my guess is you’re planning a career move. Politics
is a whole new ball game. You’ll be needing a few friends and allies. And as you said yourself, Karen Phelps is one client.’
    Their eyes met, he seemed completely relaxed, which was maddening.
    ‘Good to talk to you.’
    Helen watched him snake his way across the room. He homed in on Marcus Foxley, the Deputy Mayor for Policing and Crime. Foxley grasped his hand and gave him a blokey pat on the shoulder. Helen
let her annoyance escape in a breathy hiss; bastard was just showing her how well connected he was. Rubbing her nose in it.
    She turned and walked away. She strode down the first corridor she came to until she found a quiet spot. Then she took out her phone, clicked it on and anxiously scanned the text she’d
received earlier from Kaz:
scuse mistakes jus getting hang of this been staying at mum and dads all ok b in touch K.
    Helen sighed as she clicked the phone off; on a personal and professional front this was all getting way too complicated.

10
    Kaz stood before the wall-to-ceiling plate-glass window gazing out. Joey’s place was on the south bank of the Thames close to the Tate Modern. In one of the upscale new
developments, which clustered behind the gallery, it commanded a river view with the dome of St Paul’s as a backdrop. She strolled over to the kitchen area and poured herself another coffee.
She’d made a whole pot of Blue Mountain Arabica using the state-of-the-art coffee-maker. She wandered round the room letting the caffeine hum through her veins. Having given up cigarettes
during her last year inside she was delighted to discover that there was still one hit she could legitimately indulge in.
    She’d slept like a log cocooned in a vast double bed in the apartment’s spare bedroom. It had its own en suite plus there was a shared bathroom with a massive Jacuzzi. The place was
remarkably clean and tidy, she thought, considering it was occupied by Joey and Ashley. She later discovered a couple of Polish blokes in neat blue overalls turned up every afternoon at three,
blitzed through the whole flat in less than an hour and disappeared again.
    As Kaz sipped her coffee her eyes roamed around the minimalist space. A large 3D, flat-screen TV dominated one wall with a stack of Blu-ray discs and a PlayStation on a shelf underneath. She was
surprised to see a dozen or so books next to the discs. The titles ranged from self-help manuals about how to succeed in business to a couple of heavy-looking economics tomes. She pulled one out of
the neat row:
The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People
. It didn’t strike her as being very Joey, but then what did she really know about him now? Six years of prison visits had
only provided a series of snapshots of a boy turning into a man.
    The front door opened and Joey bustled in with a couple of carriers of shopping. He dumped them down on the kitchen counter and beamed. ‘Great. You’re up. But it is only half
eleven.’
    Kaz yawned. ‘Think my body clock’s up the creek ever since I got out.’
    Joey unloaded his bag. ‘We got pastries, some oranges to juice’ – he pulled out a pack of bacon – ‘plus, you ask me nicely, I’ll make you the best bacon butty
you’ve had in your entire life.’
    Kaz grinned. ‘Okay, I’ll give that a go.’
    Joey pulled out a frying pan from the pristine bank of cupboards. ‘I sent Ashley on an errand, give me and you a chance to talk business.’
    ‘Thought Ashley was part of the business?’
    ‘Up to a point. He’s a good lad, don’t get me wrong. Totally loyal. But when it comes down to it, he’s not the sharpest