Your Deepest Fear

by David Jackson

  Cody picks up the laptop and stares at it for a few seconds. He’s not au fait enough with computers to delve into the secrets it may hide.

  But he knows someone who is.

  54

  It doesn’t come as a major surprise to find that Webley is waiting for him when he gets back to the station. His departure was sudden and unexplained to say the least. The problem he has now is that he hasn’t put any thought into a reason for his absence.

  ‘Have you got a minute?’ she asks him.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘In private.’

  He nods and follows her out to one of the interview rooms. Webley closes the door and turns towards him.

  ‘Do you mind if I ask where you disappeared to earlier?’

  ‘I was just following up on a couple of things.’

  ‘Oh. Okay. Is it all right if I ask what they were?’

  ‘It was nothing. A shot in the dark. It didn’t lead anywhere.’

  ‘Well, was it connected with the Matthew Prior case?’

  ‘Megan, what is this? Do we need to switch on the interview recorders? Do you want to caution me?’

  ‘Don’t be a twat, Cody. I’m trying to help you.’

  ‘Really? Is that what this is? Because it’s starting to sound like you’ve been promoted to inspector while I’ve been out.’

  ‘Don’t bring rank into this. You might be my sergeant, but you’re also my friend. What the hell is going on with you?’

  ‘I told you. I was checking out some stuff.’

  ‘That’s nice and specific. I’m glad it was work-related and not, say, just popping out to buy new shoes.’

  Cody looks down at his shiny new footwear. Idiot, he thinks. Why didn’t it occur to you that somebody would notice?

  ‘I threw in an early lunch break while I was in town. Bought some shoes while I was at it.’

  Webley throws her arms up. ‘Well, that’s just great. So nice to see how preoccupied you are with this case.’

  ‘Don’t patronise me, Megan. I’m working as hard as anybody else on this investigation, if not harder.’

  ‘Really? Then I suppose you’ll know all about Sara Prior.’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘That she’s been in a fight.’

  Cody blows air out of the side of his mouth.

  ‘You’ve heard, then. How did you find out?’

  ‘Wait, what? You know?’

  ‘Yeah. I was going to tell you, but . . .’

  ‘But what? You didn’t think it was important enough? The woman looks to me like she might need stitches. Her house is a war zone. She—’

  ‘Hold on, hold on. What are we talking about here?’

  Webley stares at him. ‘Sara Prior. She’s been punched in the face. Her house has been vandalised. What is it you’re talking about?’

  ‘Not that. I thought you were talking about something else.’

  ‘What exactly?’

  ‘Nothing. Has Sara reported it?’

  Webley loses it then. ‘Forget it, Cody. I’m not playing by your rules anymore. I’m not giving you everything while you give me nothing in return. You want to know about Sara, go talk to her yourself.’

  She opens the door and storms off in the direction of the ladies’ toilets.

  Cody decides it’s best not to follow.

  55

  She sees everything.

  There are advantages to having a desk in a dimly lit recess at the back of the room. From here she can see all the comings and goings. This is her theatre.

  Grace Meade is an intelligence analyst. A civilian, but still a key member of the Major Incident Team. At least, that’s what they tell her. She’s not always convinced. Self-doubt has always been her crippling nemesis.

  She’s had her moments, though. No denying that. Made a couple of vital contributions that have helped to crack cases that were beyond the capabilities of the experienced detectives.

  Even those of Sergeant Cody.

  She watches him most of all. Not in a creepy, stalker way, but because she admires him greatly. She likes to watch how he works, how he manages his more junior colleagues.

  He has an interesting past, does Cody. She often suspects it impacts on him more than he lets on. He seems unusually tired today. Stressed. Grace knows about stress. Anxiety follows her everywhere she goes. She noticed that Cody came into work late again this morning, and she wonders if that might have something to do with his demeanour.

  It’s the interplay between the various characters in this room that most interests Grace. DCI Blunt, for example, presents a masterclass in how to run a tight ship when she addresses her team. Yes, she can be scary at times, but Grace has learned so much from her about how a woman can maintain control of a room that is predominantly filled with highly assertive men.

  She wishes she could bring herself to be a bit more like Blunt.

  And then there are the frequent exchanges between Cody and Webley. A microcosm of human behaviour right there. To the casual onlooker, much of it consists simply of interactions arising from the job – a constable reporting to, or seeking advice from, her sergeant. But Grace sees below that surface. She sees how close they get when they stand next to each other. She sees the contact – nothing overtly sexual; just a feather-light touch of an arm, the fleeting press of a hand into the small of the back.

  She wonders what will become of their relationship. Will it blossom or wither?

  Probably the latter, if recent events are anything to go by.

  Even before Webley approached Cody at his desk, Grace could tell that something was awry. Webley kept staring at the door, clicking her biro while waiting for him to arrive. And, as soon as he appeared, she was on him like a sparrowhawk, digging in her talons and dragging him out of the room.

  Okay, Grace thinks, maybe I’m being a bit unfair on Webley there. But something has happened. She’s not looking his way any longer. If anything, the pair are doing their utmost to avoid all eye contact with each other.

  But not with me, though.

  There he goes again! Cody, glancing round to look at me. Why does he keep doing that?

  And now he’s decided to stand. Perhaps he’s going to make it up with Webley, or he needs to talk to Blunt, or he just fancies a coffee, or—

  No. He’s heading in my direction. What could he possibly want with me? But here he is. Right next to me. Leaning forwards. Whispering.

  ‘Can I have a quiet word, Grace?’

  Grace nods, and then Cody beckons her with a head tilt to follow him out of the room, and now she’s flustered, she doesn’t know what this is, doesn’t know why it’s all so secretive.

  For a few seconds she doesn’t move. She would like to think that this is something good, something that might require her to pop a Tic-Tac into her mouth, but her lack of self-worth is already opening holes in that thought. What have you done wrong? it asks her. Why are you in trouble?

  She gets up. Sees that Webley notices, which both pleases and frightens her. Then she goes in search of Cody.

  He’s in the corridor, just outside the door. He’s looking left and right to ensure nobody is watching.

  Calm yourself, she thinks. You know what happens when you build your hopes up. They always come crashing down. Expect the worst, because that’s what you always get.

  But then Cody says, ‘I need to talk to you.’

  ‘All right. Have I done something wrong?

  ‘No. Nothing like that.’

  ‘Is it about a case?’

  ‘No. I just need to talk, but not here.’

  Grace gestures towards an interview room. ‘We could go in there.’

  Cody shakes his head. ‘We can’t do it here. You don’t have any plans this evening, do you?’

  Grace has to fight to keep her jaw in place. Plans? Me? What kind of plans would I have?

  ‘No. I’m available.’ She regrets using the word ‘available’ as soon as it leaves her mouth.

 
‘Would you mind if I called in at your house after work?’

  ‘Er . . . okay. I mean, if you really want to.’

  Cody brings out his phone. ‘Great. What’s your address?’

  She tells him, and he types it in.

  ‘Brilliant! Thank you, Grace. I’ll see you later.’

  He moves away, heads back to his desk.

  Grace is already making a mental note to pick up a bottle of wine on the way home.

  56

  Sara Prior pushes her car down the outside lane of the motorway. She just wants to get to the airport now. Hop on that plane, drink some gin and forget about all that she’s leaving behind her.

  A part of her wonders if she’ll ever come back. Her father knows lots of people in the UK. He could arrange to pack up her things and ship them out, and then sell the house.

  She knows it doesn’t look good. Fleeing the country like this will only cast extra suspicion on her.

  Well, tough shit. Let them extradite me if they can. Might be better if they concentrate on finding the real culprits, though. That’d be a refreshing change.

  They’re not going to catch them. They’re not competent enough. And no, Detective Constable Webley, I’m not to blame for that. Even if I told you what I know, you still wouldn’t get anywhere.

  What do I know, anyway? A name. Metro. That’s about it. I’ve never met him, I’ve never seen him, I don’t know his real name. I don’t even have proof he was involved in Matthew’s murder.

  So what would you do with that information, Detective Webley? Find him? Talk to him? Release him when he tells you a pack of lies?

  I could do better myself. I’m already doing better than the police. I can go outside the law, and that’s what’s needed here.

  So why am I running away? Why have I let the murdering bastards win? Am I too scared of the odds stacked against me? A man with a gun – what’s that? I’ve been up against whole armies with guns, grenade launchers and complete fanaticism.

  What was it that Detective Webley said?

  I came here for one reason only, and that’s to get to the truth. At some point you need to decide if that’s what you want too.

  All right, Webley. You’re right about that one. I need to decide if I want the truth.

  It’s at that point that ‘Heroes’ by David Bowie starts playing over the car radio. Memories flood in of her and Matthew belting out the words together in this very car. She listens carefully to the lyrics.

  And makes her decision.

  She moves over to the inside lane. Comes off at the next junction. Drives all the way around the roundabout and rejoins the motorway to head back home again.

  *

  Grace Meade is nervous as hell.

  When’s the last time I had a man inside this house? she thinks. Well, how about never. Plumbers and joiners and the weirdo who reads the meter don’t count.

  The wine is in the fridge. She has also bought some nibbles from Marks and Sparks, just in case. I mean, he may not have had time to eat. He’s a busy guy, with big cases to solve. Making time for (gulp) little old me is quite an honour. The least I can do is offer him nibbles.

  She has changed out of her work clothes and into a dress, and now she worries that she’s gone too far. Would something more casual be better? But then again, why not make the effort? If it all goes wrong, at least she won’t be able to blame it on looking like a slob.

  No, she thinks, I would have to blame it on my personality instead. Because of course I’m going to say something stupid, or else I won’t know what to say, or else I’ll spill wine down my dress or drop food in his lap or—

  Stop it! Stop panicking. Deep breaths, now. Deep breaths. Think about something soothing. Something like—

  Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Did you hear that? That was the doorbell. He’s here. Cody is here.

  She starts running to the door. Slows down only at the last moment when she remembers she’s supposed to be relaxed about this.

  She opens the door. He is still in his work suit, and there is a bag slung over his shoulder. Why would he bring a bag?

  ‘Hi, Grace,’ he says. ‘You look great.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she says. She would add, ‘So do you’, except that he doesn’t. He looks like he’s been knocking back cheap vodka on a park bench. Feeling the need to find a compliment, she says, ‘I like your new shoes.’

  Cody looks down at his feet. ‘Oh. Yeah, thanks.’

  ‘Comfy?’

  ‘Yes. Best pair I’ve ever had.’

  ‘Good. Good.’

  There’s a silence, and then Cody points into the hallway behind her. ‘Shall we?’

  It suddenly strikes Grace that she is supposed to be breaking the long-established tradition of not having a man inside her house.

  ‘Oh. Yes. Please come in.’

  Fluttering around him like a butterfly, she escorts him through to the living room – now the cleanest and tidiest it has ever been.

  ‘I’ve got some wine in the fridge,’ she says. ‘Would you like a glass?’

  ‘No, thanks, Grace. I’m driving.’

  ‘Then perhaps something to eat? You must be starving.’

  ‘No. I’m fine, thank you.’

  Great, thinks Grace. So that was a wasted trip to the supermarket.

  Cody sits at one end of the sofa. Not wanting to seem presumptuous, Grace sits at the other end, a gulf of cushion between them.

  ‘So . . .’ she begins. ‘I’m intrigued. Do you often visit the homes of people you work with?’

  Cody smiles. ‘Not often, no.’

  She glances at Cody’s bag. Thinks, Please don’t let this be about work.

  ‘Is it about a police investigation?’

  A shake of the head. ‘No. No, it’s not.’

  Good answer. So what’s in the bag, Cody? A present?

  ‘Then what?’

  Cody watches her for a few seconds, as if building himself up for whatever’s coming next.

  ‘This isn’t easy,’ he says. ‘I don’t even know if I should be here.’

  You should definitely be here, she thinks. For as long as you like. We could watch a movie. I’ve got popcorn in the kitchen cupboard.

  ‘Sounds serious,’ she says.

  ‘It is, and it needs to stay confidential. Just between the two of us. Nobody at work can ever hear about it. I know that’s asking a lot of you, and if you say you can’t do it, I’ll walk away right now.’

  Oh, God, she thinks. Oh, God. The two of us. What a great phrase.

  ‘I can keep a secret.’

  ‘I was hoping you’d say that. I couldn’t think of anyone else.’

  She can’t prevent a frown from creasing her features. She thinks, Am I the last resort here? The bottom name on a long list of possibles and maybes? Like the one who’s always left at the end when teams are being picked?

  ‘Anyone else for what?’

  Cody finally reaches for his bag. He unzips it. Brings out something sleek and shiny.

  It’s a laptop, and Grace wants to scream.

  How could I have imagined it might be anything but a computer? Why did I permit myself to entertain a glimmer of hope that my life won’t always revolve around computers?

  But deep down, she knows. She knows this is how everyone sees her. She’s the computer geek at the back of the room. Got a problem involving technology? Speak to Grace. Need a date tonight? Don’t ask Grace. Not unless you think she might know someone who is attractive, has a personality, and isn’t so desperate.

  But she keeps her cool. Suppresses her anger and humiliation as she always does in front of others. They will put in an appearance later, when she’s away from sympathetic smiles and pitying eyes.

  Plus, this is Cody. It’s impossible to get annoyed at Cody.

  ‘I was hoping you could take a look at this for me,’ Cody says.

  ‘In what way? Is it broken?’

  ‘Not that I know of. I want to know what information it h
olds.’

  ‘So it’s not yours?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘A friend of yours?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you said it wasn’t connected to a case.’

  ‘That’s right. It isn’t.’

  ‘Then . . . I’m sorry, Cody, but I’m not sure what’s going on here.’

  ‘To be honest, it’s probably better that you don’t know all the details.’

  ‘Why? Will I be breaking the law?’

  ‘You? No. As far as you’re concerned, you’re simply helping a friend who’s having problems with his laptop.’

  ‘And what about you? Are you breaking the law?’

  ‘It might be better if you don’t ask me that question.’

  ‘Then let me put it another way. Are you in trouble?’

  ‘I . . . I need help. And I need it quickly.’

  ‘How quickly?’

  ‘Like now. Tonight. Tomorrow could be too late.’

  ‘Tonight? That’s not a lot of time. I mean, if there’s any kind of protection on this machine—’

  ‘I understand. I’m not asking you to do the impossible, just to have a go.’

  ‘Can I ask who it belongs to?’

  ‘A guy. You wouldn’t know him.’

  Grace studies her hands as she crosses them on her lap. It’s a while before she speaks again.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ she says. ‘But only because I trust you. I don’t think you would get involved in anything illegal, and I don’t think you would deliberately involve me in anything that might get me in trouble.’

  ‘I wouldn’t do that, Grace. I have no idea what’s on this computer. For all I know, it could be games, photos, music. I just need to know more about the owner: the names of his contacts, suspicious emails – anything.’

  She nods. ‘I’ll take a look. No promises, mind.’

  Cody smiles as he puts the laptop on the sofa between them. ‘You’re beautiful, Grace. I owe you one.’

  She thinks to herself, He said I’m beautiful. I don’t think a man has ever said that to me before.

  Cody takes a card from his pocket and lays it on top of the laptop. ‘I’ve written my mobile number on the back. Call me as soon as you know anything, no matter how trivial it may seem.’ Then he stands up.