The Sister(74)

He related what the caller had just told him, regardless. The older man froze with his hand on the phone. When he’d finished reading, Kennedy shook his head, blinking in disbelief.

‘Jesus,’ he said, lifting the receiver.

‘Theresa? Morning, love, can you fetch me a coffee – make it black, thank you – oh, and you'd better get one for Tanner, too.’

‘Did we get a trace on the call?’

‘It’s going through now, sir.’

The DCI scratched his head, causing tiny flakes of dandruff to fall. ‘You know what’s baffling me? This Lee Harvey Oswald business,’ he said, brushing off the shoulders of his dark shirt. ‘It doesn’t take a genius to work out that it’s directed at me, but I can’t work out why.’ He stared at the ceiling as he spoke, at this point merely thinking aloud. He shifted his gaze to his colleague. ‘You know what the worst thing is? I don’t think it’s just some crank.’

‘That’s exactly what I thought, sir, but there’s something else I didn’t tell you.’

Turning his attention to Tanner, he said, ‘What’s that?’

‘He sounded just like you, sir.’



‘And that’s significant is it, Tanner? You sound like me on the phone. I haven’t got time for idle…’ he said, struggling for the right word. ‘Piffle.’ The look on Tanner’s face provoked a new choice of word. ‘Bullshit! Happy now? Look, I’m sure hundreds of people sound like me. It’s your imagination and nothing more.’

‘With respect, sir, you didn’t take the call—’

Interrupted by a knock on the door, Kennedy called out, ‘Okay.’ He put his finger to his lips as the door opened and Theresa came in putting the steaming mugs down on the desk. ‘Sugar, John?’ she asked.

‘We can manage thanks, Theresa,’ he said.

She grinned shyly at Tanner before lowering her eyes and leaving the room.

Kennedy noticed the smile, and it irritated him.

‘You got something going on with her, Tanner?’

Almost choking on his coffee, he quickly put the cup down, eyes bloodshot from where the hot liquid had shot into the back of his nose.

‘Let’s get that call traced, shall we?’ he said and shook his head in dismay.



Tanner picked the cup back up and left with it, walking through the open office area where Theresa and the other girls were working; as he passed; he made eye contact with Theresa, neither of them said a word, but he knew he’d have to start something with her. He allowed himself a faint smile. Fuck you, Kennedy.

Later that morning, just before midday, Tanner was back in the DCI’s office.

‘The call was made on London Bridge; from a phone with a pay as you go SIM card. Needless to say – it wasn’t registered, and the signal died immediately after the call. I’m guessing he took the battery out or dropped it into the river.’

Kennedy studied Tanner closely. ‘Any CCTV footage?’

‘We think we have him,’ Tanner said, ‘but he was wearing a hoodie if it was him, so we couldn’t zoom in on his face or anything. There was a problem when we had someone look at the footage.’

‘Come on, Tanner, get on with it.’

‘There were dozens of people on the bridge making calls at the same time. Miraculously though, only one had a hood over their head and he was stacked like a shit-house. I have a hunch it’s him.’

Kennedy sighed. ‘Because he was wearing a hoodie?’

‘Partly that.’

‘Sorry, Tanner,’ he said. ‘Do you know something? I think you’re right. Oh, and Tanner?’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘We have to catch this guy.’

The statement was obvious, but it meant so much more to Kennedy personally than Tanner could ever guess.

‘I know, sir.’





Chapter 58



The Mogadon Melissa took the night before had left her feeling groggy; her mouth was dry and her head pulsed. The 'white' phone rang; she struggled to grab it as much to stop the noise as to answer it.

She picked it up and held it to her ear, gulping the last mouthful of last night’s water. A voice crooned a bit of Sinatra down the line. ‘Then I go and spoil it all.’

‘Oh, Frank, is that you?’ she said, speaking before she’d swallowed properly, her voice gurgled – she laughed and almost choked at the same time.

‘No, it’s Tony. What on earth are you doing?’

‘Water. I was drinking when I answered. It nearly went down the wrong way,’ she spluttered a bit more, and then giggled. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘What’s today?’ he said.

‘Friday?’ she ventured.

‘That’s it, you’ve got it.’

Frank and Tony phoned her every week, each often pretending to be the other one, teasing her for fun, trying to catch her out. Where they'd worked together for so long, they had grown to sound the same, it was difficult to tell their voices apart. Together they formed part of her regular clientele; both were city traders with more money than sense. Tony once told her that footballers would weep if they knew how much money they were making.