by Adam Carter
There were, it seemed, two men she would not underestimate in future.
Lin realised then her reverie was detracting her mind from her mission. There was a car parked across the street from her, outside the hairdresser’s, and Lin knew she had seen the vehicle before. She would have run a check on the registration number had she not had a sudden vision of Baronaire falling from the sky, crashing to the road between that car and Lin’s.
Lin peered closer and could see a woman sitting behind the wheel, clutching it frantically and clearly waiting for her friend to finish her shift.
Stepping out her car, Lin hurried across the street without seeming conspicuous. She approached the vehicle from the rear and on the passenger side, and pulled the door open quickly to slip in. Laura Reynolds started in terror, but Lin shushed her.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Lin told her. “I’m a detective.” That seemed to make the girl panic all the more, so Lin said, “Look, just drive. You don’t want to be here when my partner gets back, so let’s just get out of here and have a little private chat somewhere safe, yeah?”
Reynolds was trembling and Lin briefly wondered whether it was a good idea for her to be doing any driving at all, but it was a risk she was going to have to take.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Lin reiterated.
“He was a cop wasn’t he?” Reynolds stammered. “The guy cleaning the place up?”
Lin was surprised the girl had made that connexion, and it only complicated things. “Just drive, Laura. We can sort this out when we’re away from my partner.”
Perhaps Reynolds thought Lin was carrying a weapon, perhaps she respected officers, perhaps she was just so terrified she was taking absolutely any orders given her. Whatever the reason, the car pulled away from the kerb and headed down the street. Lin directed her, telling her to drive slowly, while thinking of where they could go. Somewhere Baronaire would not be able to find them; yet somewhere he would not be able to cause a scene if somehow he did.
“Pull in here,” Lin said, and Reynolds obeyed. Lin had just the thing.
*
Toffee ice cream with real toffee pieces, topped with toffee sauce. Detective Lin was in heaven. Across from her in the café Laura Reynolds was staring at her own vanilla ice cream, her eyes nervously darting to the door every few moments. Maybe she was worried Baronaire would find them, maybe she was thinking of making a break for it; Lin didn’t much care either way. She was in toffee heaven and Baronaire was nowhere to be seen.
“Are you going to kill me?”
Lin purposefully did not make eye contact. “Nope.”
“Why did you kill Mr Smith?”
She looked up then. “I didn’t kill anyone,” she said truthfully.
“Why’d he die?”
Lin knew she could not tell her the truth, that much was obvious. She could lie, convince the woman what she had seen had not been quite what she believed. That way Reynolds did not necessarily even have to die. But Lin had never been much of a liar and she knew she would just stumble over the lies as they came to her. Still, she would give this a try. Anything was better than allowing Baronaire to kill the poor girl.
“I want to help you,” Lin said, only toying with her ice cream now. Her enthusiasm was draining with the very real threat of Baronaire appearing. Reynolds was young, scared and far from criminal. Through her research into WetFish Lin had begun to sympathise with what the organisation did. After all, if the courts were failing, someone had to do something. And it was better for a few laws to be broken if it meant a criminal could not become a repeat offender. If an officer had to choose between the life of a killer and the life of future victims, Lin couldn’t see many people opting for the life of the killer. But this wasn’t killing a killer. This was removing an innocent woman so the cops could keep on killing. And that was wrong.
There was no argument about that in Lin’s mind.
But it didn’t matter what Lin said to this girl right now. Suddenly Lin understood there was only one way Laura Reynolds was going to make it out of here alive.
Lin looked up from her melting dessert and Reynolds jumped slightly. Lin could not find a word adequate enough to describe the terror in Reynolds’s eyes. It was a cold realisation that there was nothing she could do, nothing she could say, and that the very people she should have been able to go to for help would turn on her in a moment. In truth Lin knew the police would take her in, protect her even. They would investigate her claims, but without much to go on those claims would come to nothing. She had Baronaire’s name, but Baronaire did not turn up in any police databases outside of WetFish. She knew; she’d checked. If she knew Lin’s name perhaps the officer would be able to trace her to WetFish, but no investigation would turn up anything. Sanders would see to that.
Eventually she would have to leave the police station, and Sanders would have people waiting.
There was only one way out for Reynolds, and Lin hated doing it, but sometimes morality needed to be placed above the law. And wasn’t that what WetFish was all about?
“You’re going to have to leave London,” Lin told her as calmly as she could. “I’ll get you safely to the train station, I’ll even buy you a ticket. Just don’t tell me where you’re going. I don’t need to know, and I have a feeling they might have ways of getting it out of me.”
Reynolds’s face was a mask of confusion and Lin felt sorrier for her than ever. When she spoke, Reynolds’s voice was weak, and she coughed before starting again. “So it’s true,” she said. “The police killed Mr Smith.”
“It’s ... complicated, Laura. And the less you know about it the better. Just go. Don’t go home for anything, don’t say goodbye to anyone. Leave London and don’t look back.”
“I can’t just ...”
“If you don’t you’ll die.”
Neither woman spoke for several moments. They did not look at one another, did not look much at anything. The one was terrified, the other ashamed, and finally Reynolds said, “OK.”
They left shortly after, having nothing to hang around for, and Lin drove her to the train station. She didn’t have much in the way of cash, so told Reynolds to call her over when she had told the woman behind the glass where she was headed. As Lin punched her PIN into the machine, the woman behind the glass said, “Should be nice this time of year. Not too hot.”
Heading for the platform, Lin noticed a payphone on the station concourse and an idea began to form. “Give me a moment.” Her heart was hammering as she punched in a sequence of numbers and she feared she might be too afraid to speak when the line connected.
It rang several times before a click signalled it had been picked up. “Howdy,” a cheery voice on the other end declared.
“Hello?” Lin asked, her voice trembling and pitched higher than she normally would have spoken. She recognised the voice of Barry Stockwell, even though she had phoned Baronaire’s direct line. This would make things easier, for she was certain Stockwell would not be able to recognise her voice, while with Baronaire’s uncanny senses there was the chance he would have been able to. “You’re ... you’re not the man I spoke to before,” Lin said, sounding afraid and only half having to act.
“Uh, no. He gave you this number?”
“Yes. He said I should call him if I saw her. I ... I don’t know what to do.”
“Well, I can certainly pass on a message, if I can just find a pen.” Lin heard him rummaging around the other man’s desk and was silently pleased it would annoy Baronaire when he got back. “Saw who?” Stockwell asked. “Uh, you didn’t say your name?”
“Lucy,” Lin lied. “My name’s Lucy. Two cops came to see me before. I’ve seen Laura. She’s hiding out in the shopping centre, says she’s going to spend the night there. I didn’t know what to do.”
“Lucy ... Laura ... shopping centre.” The sound of Stockwell scribbling with a pencil was audible even down the line. “Got it. I’ll make sure he gets the message, miss. Anything el
se he needs to know?”
“Only that he’s a creep. At least his partner seemed nice.”
“Uh, you want me to tell him he’s a creep?”
Lin sometimes wished she could control her mouth. “No. I have to go. Bye.”
Lin hung up. Wherever Baronaire was, once he returned to the bunker Stockwell would send him on a phoney chase, giving Lin enough time to get Laura onto the train. She had felt terrible about scaring Lucy half to death as they had, yet now it was proving useful. Lucy had become a means to an end, and Lin had never before seen people in that regard. It disturbed her to start doing so now, for she shuddered to think what other compromises she might come to make.
Looking back to Laura, she could see the young woman waiting with a fearful frown. She had heard the conversation, it seemed, and Lin only hoped it made her trust her a little more.
Lin walked her to the platform and noted there were still a couple of minutes before the train was scheduled to arrive. She glanced nervously down the tracks, as though expecting Baronaire to be running along them. Lin did not know how many changes Reynolds would have to make once she reached Charing Cross, but so long as didn’t know she wouldn’t be able to tell Baronaire.
They did not talk while they waited. They were not friends; there was no need to gossip while they awaited the end. The train pulled up and Reynolds stepped on board shakily. “Good luck,” Lin said, and Reynolds turned a sheepish, frightened smile upon her. Lin stepped back as the doors closed and the train carried its unhappy cargo into the city centre. As she watched the train depart, Lin half expected to see Baronaire crouched atop. She had no idea who or what he thought he was, but clearly the man had hero issues at the best of times.
“Well, that was against orders.”
Lin jumped, her heart almost exploding. Behind her Jeremiah was standing with his arms folded. He was not looking at the departing train, but straight into Lin’s eyes.
“Jeremiah,” she gasped, fighting to regain control. “How ... What are you doing here?”
“Well that sounded convincing. Baronaire’s not going to be happy with this.”
“Baronaire can go screw himself,” Lin snapped, her nervousness and fear turning to sudden anger. “And if you’re so high and mighty about the rules, why didn’t you stop me?”
Jeremiah seemed to find something humorous in that question. “Not sure if I’ve ever really played by the rules, Lin. But this isn’t my case. You handle it however you see fit, even if it is badly.”
“What WetFish does is wrong.”
“Is it? Then why request the transfer?”
Lin bit her lower lip. “Because I was wrong too.”
“Oh?” He frowned. “Nothing to do with all the digging you were doing? Yeah, I know all about that,” he said at her expression of surprise. “You’re a clever girl, Lin. Far cleverer than the drones Sanders has working for him.”
Lin’s surprise had become fear, but was now being replaced with incomprehension and even a little curiosity. “You’re not handing me in, are you?”
“As I said, never did play by the rules.”
Her heart rate returning at last to something akin to normality, Lin’s curiosity only increased. “What did you mean by drones?”
“Sanders is a man with a mission. His head’s a seriously messed up place, no idea why. Never could find out a blessed thing about his background; and believe me I’ve tried. But with Sanders, everything’s by the book. Just has to be his book. And all his officers run around the city like good little soldiers, never leaving the margins of that book. Always keeping between the lines.”
“You don’t reckon much of them?”
“Oh don’t get me wrong, they get the job done. They’re fine people, I’m sure. But they’re drones. They do whatever Sanders tells them to. They don’t think for themselves. In truth they make me sick. Oh, sometimes they’re daring and engage in an activity they know Sanders wouldn’t approve of. Maybe go for coffee with a colleague outside of working hours, maybe go clubbing. Maybe even – shock horror – sleep with someone at the office. But they’re all teenagers hoping mum and dad don’t come home too soon and catch them romping in their bed.”
Lin was following his train of thought. God help her, she understood what he was saying. “Aside from you and Baronaire,” she said. It wasn’t even a question.
“Yes.”
“So what makes you two so different?”
The smile was unnerving. “Now that’s the question, isn’t it?” He turned to leave, but said, “Oh, and if it turns out you are as different as I suspect ... it’ll be nice working with you, Detective.”
She had no idea what to think of having gained Jeremiah’s attention, but if he was being truthful and didn’t intend to turn her in, that meant Reynolds had a good chance of getting away. As she headed back to her car, however, she suddenly began to wonder just how Jeremiah had managed to track her to the train station; and if he and Baronaire were so similar, how long before Baronaire found her as well?
CHAPTER EIGHT
Lin hadn’t seen anything of Baronaire for the rest of the day. She had gone back to the bunker, but he wasn’t there either. Thankfully she had not run into the DCI, since she didn’t want to have to explain how her partner had managed to toss her out the car the way he had. A few of the other officers said hello to her, and she smiled back genially, but as she looked at them did Jeremiah’s words swim through her head. Drones, he had called them, and perhaps they were. But then was that not true for everyone? Their bunker was essentially no different from any other office, and they all ran around to complete their assignments, please their DCI and file their reports. They drew a salary and years to come they would all settle down with their pension and wish they could go back to that worthless existence.
But Jeremiah and Baronaire were different, and Jeremiah seemed to think that she wasn’t a conformist either.
Maybe he was even right.
With nothing happening at the bunker Lin settled in to writing her report, but found there wasn’t all that much to write about. After a while she checked the time and realised her shift had ended twenty minutes earlier. Walking out the office, she received goodbyes from those same colleagues, to which she replied once more genially, and drove home.
Exhausted, Lin dropped her bag in the hallway the instant she got home. She hadn’t lied to Baronaire. Her flat was nothing special, it was just in a more expensive part of the city than she could really afford. But Lin had no luxuries, very little of a life actually, and as long as she didn’t mind not eating all the while she could afford the place.
She went into the living room and slumped into a chair, flipping the TV on for white noise more than anything else. It had just gone ten in the evening, and Lin watched Trevor McDonald delivering his news. She did not expect any of her day’s activities to have made it onto the television, but she wanted to see whether she could spot anything which may have been WetFish. It had become a part of Lin’s routine to watch the news – which was almost always bad – for signs of police corruption. Now she could put names and faces to the crimes, however, her task should have proven easier.
Police corruption.
Was that really what it was? For Sanders to have such an operation, for him to have built it up like he had – and she was under no illusions WetFish was a recent thing – he would have to have had support. She had known this for a while, but it was only just now sinking in that WetFish was not an example of police corruption. Police brutality perhaps, but the law was the law. And she was an agent of that law. Who was she to say otherwise?
Perhaps, with that attitude, she really was a drone after all.
There was a story on the news about a woman’s body which had been found. She had been identified and the police had been investigating her disappearance for almost a month. Lin could not help but wonder when Laura Reynolds would turn up on a similar news story, and how long it would take for Sanders to take over the investigation
she was currently watching on the television. How long before someone was killed for this woman’s death. And whether her family would ever even know the murderer of their loved one had paid the ultimate price. Being a good police officer was serving the public, and one could not do that by hiding everything from them. The victims’ families needed closure, and DCI Sanders was not offering that. All he offered was a prohibition on repeat offenders; he did nothing to alleviate pain. She wondered whether Sanders was so dead to pain that he couldn’t even understand this was his failing.
Lin made notes while she watched the broadcast, and was still scribbling when it moved onto the next item. There had been a fire in some flats in south London. There was footage of fire-fighters battling the blaze, and the reporter on the scene was saying details were sketchy. Lin wondered how many people had died in that fire, whether an officer at WetFish had started it in order to take down a perpetrator. And how many innocents had been killed in the process.
She made further notes, all the while not knowing what she was actually going to do with them. But they helped her focus, even if she ended up burning them. They helped to keep her sane in a job where she was expected to go out murdering people.
She heard something then and glanced into the corner. Startled, she almost jumped from the chair as a small black shape scuttled across the floor. She threw her remote control at the rat, missing by a mile, and looked for something else to use, but the creature was gone in an instant.
“Could’ve killed the poor thing.”