Hilary Bonner - Friends to Die For

‘Sorry, sir,’ said the DC.

‘Not to worry,’ Vogel told the embarrassed officer. ‘Could have been much worse. I knew a rookie PC once who, first time on a murder, threw up right over the corpse. SOCOs weren’t at all pleased.’

‘Bloody ’ell,’ said Parlow.

Vogel smiled. ‘Right, let’s go back in and get this over with,’ he said, just as Dr Fitzwarren arrived.

‘Good morning, gentlemen. Everything under control?’ she asked, glancing pointedly at the mess on the ground by Parlow’s feet.

Vogel waited ’til she was out of earshot then told Parlow to take no notice.

And it was with some satisfaction that, as they returned to the tented area, this time following the pathologist, he became aware that even her detachment and iron control seemed to falter when she took in the scattered parts of Karen Walker’s body spread across the track.

‘First impressions?’ he asked.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Vogel,’ she replied.

‘Things are not always as they seem,’ said Vogel.

‘How very cryptic,’ responded Patricia Fitzwarren. ‘Have you ever considered compiling crosswords for a living?’

‘Yes,’ said Vogel.

He didn’t know why they were indulging in banter in the face of such horror. But perhaps it was because of it. This kind of behaviour was a common reaction among police officers, doctors, and indeed the staff of all emergency services.

‘I bet you have, too,’ responded the pathologist. ‘Look, we don’t need to ponder too much on the cause of death, do we? It’s more a question of did she jump or was she pushed — and looking at the state of the poor woman I doubt we’ll be able to throw much light on that. But I’ll do what I can here, then we’ll complete the post-mortem back at the morgue. D’you want to come?’

‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ responded Vogel, who found post-mortem examinations even more disturbing than crime scenes and preferred to avoid attending. ‘I’ll wait to hear.’

He left then, Parlow at his heels, wondering why he’d rushed to Leicester Square tube station in the first place. He wasn’t sure he had learned anything, and he’d certainly been of no assistance at all.

There was another even more unpleasant task to be performed for which he had absolutely no appetite. The one every copper dreads. The death call.

‘Right, Parlow, we’d better go see Greg Walker,’ he said. ‘Break the news.’

Unless he already knows, Vogel pondered to himself but did not add. For he could not yet rule out the possibility that Greg Walker had been the one who’d killed her.

Greg was in no danger of finding out anything. After his wife had left he’d gone back to his makeshift bed on the sofa and laid there, enveloped in misery. He supposed it was his own fault that she’d walked out on him and left him in this state. He should have entrusted Karen with the truth about his past when they’d first met. But he hadn’t been able to. And as the years had passed it had become more and more impossible to do so. He’d told her he’d messed about with gangs and been involved in the odd punch-up down the market, and that his pal Wiz had died following an accidental fall. The reality had been far worse. The punch-ups down the market had been knife fights. Wiz, another young Triad recruit, had been shot by a couple of Kwan’s henchmen after being caught out in some act of betrayal or disloyalty. Greg had never been told the details. But because it was known that he was Wiz’s friend, he had been ordered to help dispose of the body. Kwan’s heavies had stood over him giving orders as he dismembered Wiz’s corpse and placed the body parts in bin bags. He’d then delivered the remains to an East End pet-food factory run by Kwan’s uncle. As Kwan intended, the horrific experience had proved a most effective warning, one Greg had never forgotten. His participation had given Kwan a hold on him, and made him terrified of the consequences if he ever tried to break free.

Karen’s anger and frustration when she learned of Greg’s association with Kwan had been understandable. But she had no idea what Kwan was capable of, so it was incomprehensible to her that Greg couldn’t just turn his back on the man. The miracle in Greg’s life was that he’d been allowed to move on as much as he had. Yet the shadow of the Triads had never really gone away, and it never would. How could he explain that to Karen without telling her everything, forcing her to share with him the dreadful burden of what he had done?

Unable to face going to work or even getting up off the sofa, Greg had stared up at the ceiling trying to figure out a way to salvage his marriage. His phone rang twice shortly after Karen’s departure. He checked the display panel just in case it was her who was calling. Or, heaven forbid, Tony Kwan. But the first call turned out to be from his dodgy whisky supplier and the second from Bob. He had no wish to speak to either of them, particularly Bob, so he ignored both calls. He supposed later that he had heard the whine of police sirens and the noise of ambulances arriving at the tube station a couple of streets away, but such sounds were a normal part of city life. He paid them no heed. After an hour or two of torturing himself about both his past and his now uncertain future, the sleep Greg had denied himself in the night finally overcame him and he drifted into blissful nothingness.

He was woken by the entryphone. With a start, he sat bolt upright on the sofa. Maybe Karen had come back. She had her own keys, but she could have forgotten them. Especially given the state she’d been in. He hurried to the phone and spoke into it hopefully.

He was disappointed to hear Vogel’s voice.

‘We need to come up and see you, please, Mr Walker. I’m afraid there is something we have to speak to you about.’

Greg felt no particular sense of foreboding. He was merely irritated. He assumed the detective had more questions, and that was the last thing he needed right now.

But he opened the door to find Vogel grim-faced. And an equally grim-faced CID man accompanying him.

‘I think you’d better go and sit down, Mr Walker,’ said Vogel.

Greg led the two policemen into the living room and perched himself on an upright chair at the table by the window. It was obvious that Vogel had something important to say, but the policeman seemed to be having difficulty finding the words. Alarm bells were now ringing loud and clear in Greg’s head. This was serious, he thought, very serious. Yet it did not occur to him that this latest police visit concerned his wife until Vogel spoke again.

‘I am afraid I have some bad news, Mr Walker,’ said Vogel.

It was like being struck by a bolt of lightning. Suddenly Greg knew. Beyond any doubt, he knew.

‘Karen,’ he said. ‘Karen. She’s dead.’

It wasn’t a question. He didn’t need to ask a question. It was a statement.

Vogel nodded. ‘I am afraid she is, Mr Walker,’ he said. ‘And I am so sorry to be bringing you this—’

‘How?’ Greg interrupted, his voice unnaturally high. ‘Was she murdered? If she was, I’m going to get the bastard. You lot can’t do it, that’s bloody obvious. But I will. I’ll get the bastard.’

‘Mr Walker, we do not know yet whether your wife was murdered, not for sure anyway.’

‘What happened? Just tell me, will you. Tell me exactly what happened to my Karen.’

Vogel did so. He explained that while the cause of death seemed clear, it was not known exactly how Karen came to fall under the wheels of a train, that inquiries were ongoing, CCTV footage was being checked, and so on.

‘What do you mean, you don’t know how she came to fall? She must have been bloody pushed. I mean, after what happened to Marlena and Michelle it’s obvious she’s been murdered. It’s not fucking rocket science, is it?’