‘Because I’ve noticed that Chey hasn’t been pulling his weight,’ she continued. ‘While you were out this morning, I caught him several times on his phone. And looking at the action report on HOLMES, it’s clear that he’s got a lot of tasks still outstanding. What do you have to say to that? Are you giving him free rein or is it poor management on your behalf?’
Suddenly, something came over Tomek. He wasn’t so bothered about the attack on his character; it was the one on Chey’s that finally knocked some sense into him.
‘That’s not true. He’s been doing loads of work for me.’
‘Like what?’
‘You can say all you want about me, but don’t say anything about my team. If they’re not working up to your standards, then that’s on me. Nothing to do with him, Rachel, or anyone else. That’s my responsibility as a leader, as SIO.’
Victoria pursed her lips, tilted her head to the side in a brief display of appreciation. ‘Very well, but remember that shit rolls downhill, Tomek, and sometimes there’s no way to stop it.’
Tomek didn’t agree, though he chose not to say anything.
‘Do you have anything you’d like to add?’ Nick asked from the back of the room.
He shook his head.
‘Excellent.’ Nick pushed himself off the wall again. ‘It’s come to our attention that we’ve been receiving lots of requests from Abigail at the Southend Echo. There’s been a lot of noise on social media about what’s been happening with Operation Butterfly, and yet we’ve not released any statements. Have you discussed a media strategy with Anna yet?’
You couldn’t fucking wait, could you, Abi?
‘I… No, no, we haven’t discussed anything yet. I will… I will have a word with Abigail about it.’
‘You need to speak with Anna first,’ Victoria said. ‘You can’t be the one to bridge the gap between Anna’s job and Abigail’s. That’s not how it works.’
‘I know, but—’
‘Put the personal relationships aside and focus on what’s good for the family and what’s good for the investigation.’
The pressure on Tomek’s chest increased. He was having his arse handed to him on a plate. He knew he wasn’t coming out of this meeting with a gold star or anything. It was straight to isolation for him. And this time, he didn’t feel any of the relief he’d felt all those years ago. There was no cry for help that had been answered. No hunger for attention that needed sating. In fact, it was the opposite. He wanted out; he wanted away from it all, away from the spotlight. To wander along Leigh-on-Sea seafront while the rest of his colleagues were tucked up in class.
‘Lastly,’ Nick continued, ‘before we let you go for the evening: what’s your current hypothesis?’
Straight to the point.
The vacant expression returned to Tomek’s face. His mind turned blank.
‘What direction are you leading the investigation, and why do you think that?’ Nick persisted.
His mouth fell open, but still nothing came out.
Nick continued: ‘Was Angelica Whitaker murdered by someone she knew, or was this a random killing?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Tomek hadn’t been prepared to answer the question in Victoria’s office. Not yet. Despite the odds being fifty-fifty at face value, and the decision almost certain in his mind, it was the trajectory of the wrong decision that concerned him. If he made the incorrect choice, and it wasn’t until they were a week, two, three down the line before they noticed, then there would inevitably be a shitstorm and a monumental amount of work to backtrack, reprocess, and reconduct themselves. They would almost have to start again, regroup, reconvene. And he wasn’t prepared to fuck up that much on his first case. He wasn’t willing to stake his claim just yet. Not on a case like this. As such, the decision weighed heavily on his shoulders, and he felt the pressure of it. While he was leaning towards one of the two options – that Angelica had known her killer – he wanted to keep as open a mind as possible.
Several hours later, after what had quickly become an afternoon heavily laden with budgets, forecasting, and pretending to read the team’s daily reports, Tomek slotted the key into the lock and twisted. It was a little after six pm, one of the earlier nights he’d had in a while, and he found Kasia in the kitchen, unloading a baking tray from the oven.
‘What’s on the menu tonight?’ he asked.
‘Chicken nuggets and chips.’
Of course it was.
‘Sounds delicious.’
‘Yeah.’
Tomek hung his backpack on the back of the front door, dropped his keys in a small box inside a chest of drawers, and made his way to the dining table. In the kitchen, Kasia tipped the baking tray to one side and began decanting her food onto her plate. Just as he was about to make a comment, he noticed something on the table. Another envelope, the HMP Wakefield logo stamped on the top right. Tomek’s name scribbled in barely legible handwriting.
Another letter from Nathan.
‘Hey, I was thinking of going to see Yasmin at the weekend, but—’ Kasia started, but Tomek ignored her.
He grunted something, not entirely sure what, then headed to his bedroom. He closed the door gently behind him, unable to take his eyes off the document. He weighed it in his hands, wondering whether it was heavier or lighter than the last. Heavier. Definitely heavier. He raised it to his nose, sniffing, waiting for his senses to find anything untoward rubbed into the envelope. Nothing.
The first time he’d received a letter, he’d been gripped with fear and dread, a pang of nausea tearing through his body as he’d read it. The second letter had been a similar sort of affair. But now, for this one, strangely, he felt a scintilla of excitement, a lust to know what was inside. Like he was twelve again, receiving his first letter from his pen pal in Africa.
Perching himself on the end of the bed, he shut out all noise (he could hear Kasia’s knife and fork clinking on the plate) and turned the envelope over. This time, the back had been sealed with tape. Perhaps that was why it felt heavier. Or there was something inside… something Nathan had included that he wanted Tomek to see.
Wedging his thumb in the fold, Tomek ripped through the envelope and dropped it to the floor. The letter was the same as usual – a single piece of A4 paper that had been folded into thirds. Except stapled to the back of it were two squares of paper, torn, messy at the edges. Curiosity getting the better of him, he looked at those first: on them were two different mobile numbers, one on each page. After a quick check on the letter he’d read the other night, one of them was the same mobile number that Nathan had provided. Tomek ignored the numbers and, feeling like a teenager reading a love letter for the first time, he opened the page.
Dearest Tomek,
i haven’t had a singel response from you at all reesently and I’m starting to get a bit wurried about the letters going missin. i really do hope you are reeseeving them. That is why i have decided to right them more freekwently so that you have a higha chance of reeseeving them. Belt and braces, one of the guards called it the other day.
Anyway, i wanted to let you know that I’ve been doing some thinking and I wanted to let you know that I never apologized for what I did to your brother. I am sorry, to the bottom of the heart and I do hope you can foregive me. There was a lot of things going on in my life when I did that to him. Wood you like to hear them?
