The Heights - Parker Bilal

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the family tradition, the doors opened and he was whisked all the way to the top.’

      ‘Does this have anything to do with that guy you used to work for?’

      ‘Stewart Mason?’

      ‘That’s the one. What did you do for him exactly?’

      Crane considered the question. What did she do for Stewart? A lot of things, was the answer to that one. Most of which she was not allowed to talk about.

      ‘Mostly I wrote assessments.’

      ‘About?’

      ‘Risk. Outlining possible outcomes, feasible scenarios. It’s not that complicated.’

      ‘So you say. Where does Foulkes come into the picture?’

      ‘Like I said, I spent a lot of time at my grandparents’ house.’ Crane stopped herself. ‘It’s kind of an estate, really.’

      ‘Fancy name for a castle, isn’t it?’

      ‘Not quite a castle, but it’s big.’

      ‘And Marco was across the street.’

      ‘In a manner of speaking.’ Crane took another belt of her whisky. ‘Marco comes from that background. He downplays it on television because it’s not too cool for his public image as a common or garden writer of the people.’

      ‘So, this is all just coincidence? He goes home to visit his mother. She takes him over to see your father and he happens to mention that you are running an investigations bureau?’

      Crane frowned. ‘I’m not even sure how he would have known that. Like I said, I haven’t spoken to my father in years.’

      ‘So how did Foulkes find us?’

      ‘We’ll have to ask him, or rather, we could have asked him before you chased him away.’

      ‘What happened to the air of desperation that would bring him running back?

      Crane smiled. ‘Are you having second thoughts?’

      Drake slumped back with a sigh. ‘I’m not sure I’m cut out for this private sector gig.’

      ‘We’ve been over this. We both know you would never have lasted at the Met. You’re not the institution type. You hate authority, having it or submitting to it. It’s against your nature.’

      ‘I thought we were talking about the case, not analysing me.’

      ‘You don’t need me to tell you all this. You’d have got yourself suspended again. It was only a matter of time.’

      Drake knew she was right. It was something he had known for years.

      ‘They scapegoated you, sacrificed you for the good of the force. You were never going to come back from that. They undermined your trust in the whole system.’

      ‘I made a mistake.’

      ‘We all make mistakes. You were doing your job within a corrupt institution.’

      ‘Explain how this conversation turned around from your father to me?’

      ‘It’s what I do,’ Crane said, lifting her glass in salute. ‘You’re not upset, are you?’

      ‘Not really. Just so long as I don’t have to go and apologise to Foulkes.’

      ‘No, I suppose I’ll have to do that.’ Crane gave a long sigh. ‘You shouldn’t have scared him off.’

      ‘Now you’re being mean.’

      ‘Sorry. You’re right. I’m a little edgy.’ Crane sat back. ‘I have a date tonight.’

      ‘Anyone I know?’

      Crane threw him a wary look as she reached for her glass. Before she could speak her phone began to buzz. She glanced at the screen.

      ‘Please don’t say I told you so.’

      ‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ said Crane.

      4

      Clapham Common station was cordoned off, fenced in by a flurry of flashing lights stirring the grey light. Police cars and ambulances were parked up on all sides. Motorcycle officers were directing traffic that was already backed up around the common. A line of disgruntled commuters stood urgently jabbing at their phones as they waited for shuttle buses to ferry them to the next station. DS Kelly Marsh slung her identity badge lanyard around her neck as she pushed her way through the crowd choking the entrance. Milo Kowalski was inside sheltering from the rain. He filled her in as they made their way down the escalators.

      ‘The head was wrapped in old rags and newspaper. It was placed in a blue nylon IKEA bag, the kind you buy there when you go shopping.’

      ‘Ah, the bag of choice for psychos. That’ll do wonders for their brand.’

      Milo looked sceptical. ‘Not sure that’s going to be their first thought.’

      ‘What is it about my humour that you never seem to get?’ Kelly sighed. ‘Who found it?’

      ‘Nine-year-old Tyler. His mother Ruby Brown was with him, along with his baby sister.’ As usual, Milo had already committed the salient facts to memory. The notebook he held loosely was just a prop. ‘Parents split up but got back together a few months ago when Mrs Brown’s mother broke up with her boyfriend.’

      ‘I hear the makings of a soap opera in there somewhere.’

      Milo ignored the remark. ‘That’s why they were on the train. They have to commute now.’

      ‘Fair enough. I know I’ve said this before, but you might have missed your calling. So, we’re talking about a human head, right?’

      ‘Yeah, when it’s an alien they call in the woman from The X-Files.’

      ‘Cute.’ Milo’s attempts at humour never failed to surprise Kelly. He saw the look on her face and shrugged apologetically.

      ‘Sorry.’

      At the bottom of the escalators a collection of uniformed officers was interviewing passengers from the train. Kelly ran an eye over them all slowly, taking in the faces, the ages, the way they dressed. She was looking for oddities, elements that seemed incongruous or out of place. At this point everyone was a suspect. But looking at the tired faces she saw fear and impatience. People wanted to get out of here. Most didn’t care who the dead person was. Not because they were heartless but because it wasn’t their problem. Because in a city like London everyone has a problem and you can’t carry all of them. It was an inconvenience. A delay to their journey. They just wanted to get home, to call their loved ones and tell their story to someone who mattered to them, not to these faceless uniforms. Maybe that was the thing about getting murdered in this town; finding someone who cared enough to do something about it. And that, Kelly surmised, was her role.

      By now they were on the platform where the train was still stalled. Up ahead, the stutter of a camera flash exploded in quick succession, lighting up the interior of a carriage at the far end. The platform was crowded with London Transport officials and paramedic crews. A woman in her sixties was being treated for shock, an oxygen mask over her face, her eyes wide.

      ‘Male, female, what are we talking about?’

      ‘Hard to tell. First impressions say female. Caucasian. Blonde. Dyed, if you ask me. Full set of teeth. Age, anywhere between thirty-five and fifty.’

      Kelly was surprised. ‘You got all that from the CSO?’

      ‘No, those are my own observations.’

      Milo’s confidence was daunting at the best of times. She had the sense that what awaited her inside that carriage was bigger than anything she had dealt with before.

      ‘Tell

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