Sandalwood flashed a warrant card. Rose didn’t even bother to look. She’d seen enough of them over the past two days to last her a lifetime. “What is it this time?” she asked. “Honest, there’s nothing more I can tell you. I’m new here. I don’t really know the other girls.”
“What do you mean, ‘this time’?”
“Well, you can hardly fail to be aware that this isn’t the first visit I’ve had from the police lately, can you? Or don’t you even talk to each other?”
“The lines of communication do get jammed up once in a while, I must admit,” said Sandalwood. As he spoke, Watkins was busy poking around the room, looking under cushions and in the sideboard drawers.
“What’s he doing?” Rose asked.
“Like I said. Don’t mind him. He can’t help himself. Habitual nosey parker. Stands him in good stead in this job sometimes, though, I can tell you. Like a bloodhound. Any chance of a cuppa, love?”
“I’d hoped you wouldn’t be staying long enough.”
Watkins glanced toward Sandalwood from over by the bookcase. “She’s got quite a gob on her, don’t she?” he said. He had a thin, squeaky voice, which reminded Rose of fingernails grating on a blackboard.
“Now, now,” said Sandalwood. “There’s no need to fall out. Why don’t you go and have a good shufti around the rest of the house while the young lady here and I have a little chinwag?”
Watkins grunted and left the room. Rose could hear him climbing the stairs. “What’s he doing?” she said. “He can’t just poke around wherever he wants like that. Where’s your warrant?” Rose made to go after Watkins, but she felt a grip like a circus strongman’s around her upper arm. First it hurt, then her whole arm went numb. “Ow!” she yelled, trying to yank her arm away. “Gerroff!”
But Sandalwood held on and dragged her down into a chair none too gently. “Sit down, young lady,” he said between gritted teeth. “And speak when you’re spoken to.”
It was remarkable how still he remained through all this, Rose thought, not moving a muscle that didn’t need to be moved. She straightened her glasses. “Who are you?” she said. “You’re not police. You’re—”
The blow wasn’t hard, but it was enough to stop Rose in her tracks, and she hadn’t seen it coming. “Shut up,” said Sandalwood, pointing a stubby finger at her. “Just shut the fuck up, or I’ll get DC Watkins back down here and you’ll know what real pain is. He enjoys hurting people, Watkins does. For me it’s just a part of the job.”
Rose didn’t need telling twice. Her arm was beginning to ache, and her cheek stung. She started to cry.
“And you can shut off the waterworks, too,” Sandalwood said. “They won’t get you anywhere with me.”
“What do you want?” Rose instinctively crossed her legs, aware that her skirt had ridden up and she was probably showing far too much thigh.
Sandalwood caught her gesture and laughed. “It’s all right, love,” he said. “Don’t worry. That’s not what we’re after, tempting as it looks.”
Rose flushed and curled her fists tight on her lap. She felt powerless and scared. If she’d had a gun, she would have shot Sandalwood right there and then. She could hear the other one, Watkins, moving about upstairs. He was in her room now, going through her things, and the thought made her flesh crawl.
“A couple of simple questions. Straight answers from you and we’re gone,” said Sandalwood. “Deal?”
Rose said nothing, just started down at her fists, watching her knuckles turning white.
“Deal?” Sandalwood said again.
Rose nodded. All she wanted was for them to be gone. The doctors were working desperately over a bloody patient in Holby City. Suddenly it didn’t seem as exciting as it once had.
“Where’s Erin Doyle?”
“You must know,” said Rose. “It’s been on telly and in all the papers. She’s in Eastvale. Probably in jail now.”
Sandalwood nodded encouragingly, as if the question had been a test and Rose had managed to pass. “Do you know a bloke called Jaff? Paki bastard.”
“I’ve met him a few times.”
“He’s been shagging this Erin bint, right?”
“They’ve been going out together, yes. You don’t need to be so crude.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere. Where is he? Where’s Jaff?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’d better not be lying.”
“Why would I lie? I hardly know him. Like I said, I’ve met him once or twice. He’s Erin’s boyfriend.”
“You ever been to his place?”
“Never.”
“Well, we’ve just dropped by, and he’s not there. The bloke down the hall says he scarpered with some woman last night. Seemed in a bit in a hurry. Any idea who that is or why he’d do a moonlight?”
“No.”
Watkins came back and stood in the doorway shaking his head, then he held up three fingers. Sandalwood gave him a nod, then turned back to Rose. “DC Watkins tells me there are three of you living here. Who’s the third?”
“Francesca. Francesca Banks. But I think her real name’s Tracy.”
“Francesca but her real name’s Tracy? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I don’t know.” Rose put her hands to her face and started crying again. “You’re scaring me.”
“Tell me about this Francesca.”
“She knew Jaff, too. I think she fancied him. She disappeared. She went out last night and she hasn’t come back. Please go away. Please leave me alone. I don’t know anything.”
“Is she the woman Jaff scarpered with? Don’t lie to me this time.”
“She might be. She’s got short blond hair with a few colored streaks. She was wearing jeans and a denim jacket.”
“Stud under her lower lip and a ring through her eyebrow?”
“That’s right.”
Sandalwood looked at Watkins. “That’s the one that was with Jaff. Where are they?”
“I don’t know!” said Rose in exasperation. “Don’t you understand? She’s gone. Probably with Jaff. That’s what the policewoman kept asking me. But I told her the same. I don’t know. I don’t know.”
“What policewoman?”
“The one that was here just before you.”
“We don’t know nothing about any policewoman.”
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on. Honest. It’s none of my business. I think Erin’s in jail, and I don’t know where Francesca is. Or Jaff. I don’t understand any of this. All I wanted was a room I could afford. This is all so not my problem.”
“Seems like it’s very much your problem at the moment, young lady,” said Sandalwood, looking around the room. “Seeing as you’re the only one here, apart from us.”
“Don’t! Please, don’t,” said Rose, holding her hands over her face again and sobbing. But instead of the blow she was expecting, or the sound of a gun cocking, the next thing she heard was the front door slamming. She put her hands down and opened her eyes. Were they really gone? Could it be true? She turned off Holby City, no longer interested in doctors and bleeding patients, and checked every room. They’d left a bit of a mess upstairs, but they were definitely gone.
Well, that was the bloody limit, Rose decided. She went to her room and threw what few clothes and books she had into a suitcase, packed her toiletries and makeup into her hold-all, then paused for a moment to look around and see if she had forgotten anything. She hadn’t. She had obviously had the misfortune to end up in a house full of bloody lunatics, and her nerves couldn’t stand it anymore. She would post the rent she owed later. Right now, if she hurried, she might just be able to catch a train or a bus back to Oldham and her mum and dad. At worst, she could phone home and her dad would drive over and pick her up. He’d complain, and he’d lay on the I-told-you-so guilt trip long and thick, but he’d do it. Anything had to be better than stopping a moment longer in this madhouse, she thought. Then she slammed the door behind her a
nd pushed her key through the letterbox.
ANNIE WAS sitting cross-legged on her living room floor, focusing on her breathing, letting the thoughts come and go like bubbles, holding on to none of them, her mind fixed on her breathing. In, out. In, out.
A knock at the door broke her concentration. Irritated, she glanced at her watch. After ten. Who would come calling at this time? The spell was broken anyway, so she got up slowly, aware of her knees cracking from lack of practice, and answered. It was Nerys Powell, the female AFO.
“What are you doing here?” Annie asked. “You shouldn’t be here. Chambers will go spare.”
Nerys held up her hands. “I know. I know,” she said. “And I’m sorry. But can I talk to you? Please? Just for a minute or two. There’s no reason Mr. Chambers has to know about it, is there?”
“How did you find out where I live?”
“I’ve got a friend in Human Resources.”
“Who?”
“Just a friend.”
“I could find out easily enough, you know.”
“Why do you say that? What do you mean?”
Annie sighed. “Nothing,” she said. “Just that you shouldn’t be here. It’s inappropriate.”
“What are you so afraid of? Being seen with me? If that’s the case, the quicker you let me in the better. Besides, we’re miles from Eastvale. I know it’s late, and I’m sorry. I did come earlier but there was nobody home. I’ve been wandering around getting lost, trying to pluck up my courage to come back. I stopped for a couple of drinks. I just want to talk to you, that’s all. Nobody has to know.”
“I don’t know. I shouldn’t.” Annie chewed on her lip and thought for a moment, still disoriented from being snapped out of her meditation. Nerys certainly didn’t appear drunk. Then she made a snap decision and stood aside. “Okay, you can come in. But just for a couple of minutes.”
Nerys entered the room. “Cozy,” she said, looking around. “Just another word for cramped.”
“Bijou.”
“Another word for too small.”
Nerys laughed. “No, I like it. Seriously.”
“Sit down. Can I get you a cup of tea or something. Coffee?”
“Nothing, thanks.”
“You sure?”
“My body is a temple.”
“Well, I’m having a glass of wine.”
“In that case…” said Nerys.
Annie went into the kitchen and took a bottle of pinot grigio from the fridge. She felt uncomfortable with Nerys’s visit and knew she shouldn’t be talking to her, or even listening, but she was feeling rebellious after today’s excitement. She was also frustrated by her visit to Tracy’s house in Leeds, and her later one to Jaff’s flat in Granary Wharf. It had been easy enough to locate. There had been nobody home there, of course, and one of the neighbors had informed her, before slamming his door in her face, that the police had already been around asking questions, that he had told them all he knew, and that he was damned if he was going to repeat it all again to her.
So she decided she might as well lend her ear to Nerys for a while. You never know, she told herself, you might even learn something. She opened the wine and took it through to the living room along with two glasses. Nerys was on her knees by the small selection of CDs on the lower shelves of the bookcase. She was wearing blue jeans that showed a bit too much arse crack and a light wind cheater over a black T-shirt, none of which did much to disguise the muscles or hide the bulge at her waist when she stood up. Probably pure muscle, too, Annie guessed. “See anything you like?” she asked.
Nerys glanced over at her. “Nope,” she said. “But then I’m not much of a one for music. Not like your boss, I hear.”
“Alan? Yes, he does have a bit of a reputation. I can’t say I’ve got a clue what he’s listening to half the time. Some of it sounds pretty good, but some of it, well, to put it frankly, it just sounds like a bull with a pain in its testicles to me.”
Nerys laughed and accepted her wine before sitting down. She was a good three inches shorter than Annie, though much stockier, and her hair was so short and spiky that it resembled a military crew cut. Her eyes were green. “Cheers,” she said, holding out her glass.
Annie clinked hers against it. “Cheers.”
“He’s got quite a reputation in other areas, too, around County HQ, your DCI,” said Nerys.
“Oh? What do you mean?”
“Bit of a cowboy. Likes to do things his own way.”
“I suppose so. But don’t we all, if we think ours is the right way?”
“True enough. It’s so hard to be certain, though, isn’t it? I’m more used to following orders. The Firearms Cadre is very discipline oriented.”
“I suppose it has to be,” said Annie. “But that wouldn’t suit Alan, you’re right. Still, I don’t suppose it was Alan Banks you came to talk about?”
“In a way, it is,” said Nerys. “Mmm, this is nice.” Annie shrugged. “Just cheap Italian plonk.”
Nerys stood up again and walked over to a framed watercolor of Eastvale Castle in the evening light. “That’s good,” she said. “Whoever painted it really caught the light at that time of a winter evening.”
“Thank you,” said Annie.
Nerys’s jaw dropped. “You mean…? You? I never dreamed.” She smiled. “Honest?”
“Honest,” said Annie, feeling herself blush. “Why would I lie? It’s all right. Why should you know, anyway? It’s just a hobby, that’s all.”
“But you’re so good. So talented. Have you ever thought—”
“Look, Nerys, I appreciate the compliment and all, but can you just get to the point. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to appear rude, but…” Nerys sat down again. “No. No. Of course. You’re right. I suppose I’m just nervous, that’s all. I tend to blather on a bit when I’m nervous.”
“Why should you be nervous?”
“Well, you’re a DI and I’m just a lowly PC.”
“You’re hardly lowly. Besides, you’re the one with the gun.”
“I’m not carrying. Honest.” She held her arms out. “Want to check?”
“The point?” said Annie.
Nerys finally let her arms drop, sat back down in the chair and seemed to relax a little. She ran her finger around the rim of her glass. “That stuff at the meeting yesterday, about Mrs. Doyle asking for DCI Banks. Is it true?”
“Yes, it’s true,” said Annie. “They’re old friends. Neighbors.”
“Would he have gone?”
“I think so. Probably. But he’s not here.”
“Where is he?”
“America. A long way away.”
Nerys took a sip of wine. “Pity he wasn’t here. It would have saved us all a hell of a lot of trouble.”
“Not what Chambers thinks.”
“Chambers is an arsehole.” Nerys put her hand to her mouth. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that in front of you.”
Annie couldn’t help but laugh. “No, you shouldn’t,” she said. “But you hit the nail right on the head.”
“I understand you worked for him once?”
“For my sins. You know a lot.”
“When the shit hits the fan like this, I make it my business to know as much as I can.”
Annie raised an eyebrow. “Your friend in Human Resources again?”
Nerys grinned. “Another one, this time. Records.”
“My, my, but you must have a lot of friends.”
“No. That’s the problem. I don’t. I’ve never felt so alone. So isolated.”
“But that’s ridiculous,” said Annie. “You AFO teams have a reputation for being close and tight-knit. Your lives depend on one another.”
“It’s true enough on the job,” said Nerys. “It’s our training. But it doesn’t always work that way off duty.” She leaned forward in her chair and looked Annie in the eye. The directness and intensity of her gaze were disconcerting. “Look, I’m a woman in a man’s world. More than that. I’m a g
ay woman in a man’s shooting club. You might think they treat me like one of the lads, but they look at me more as a freak.”
“I’m sure that’s not the case.”
Nerys’s upper lip curled in a sneer. “What do you know?”
“Nothing, I suppose,” said Annie. “What got you into it in the first place, then? I mean the Firearms Cadre?”
“I didn’t really know what I wanted to do. I mean, in the force. I did all the courses—surveillance, vehicle pursuit, worked undercover, even traffic. I was all over the map.”
“And?”
“I suppose it was my dad, really. He was a para. Real macho. Got killed in Iraq two and a half years ago. Another sniper. Dad was really a perfectionist, a technician. I grew up around guns, the smell of them, the mechanics. Christ, I could dismantle and reassemble a Hechler and Koch or a Parker-Hale in the dark, going by sound and touch alone.”
“That sounds like a useful skill,” said Annie. “Well, you never know.”
“But you never thought of this before, when you first joined?”
“Not really. It wasn’t as if I wanted to follow in my dad’s footsteps. Not until he got killed. Then it all seemed to make sense. And I’m good at it. They fast-tracked me. I’m the youngest on the unit apart from Warby.” They let the silence stretch for a while, as Nerys no doubt thought about her dead father and Annie thought about Banks. Where was he? Los Angeles? Reno? Tucson? She knew he was somewhere in the American southwest. She wished she were there with him. “I don’t want to be on Firearms Cadre forever, though,” Nerys said.
“Ambitious?”
“A bit, I suppose. I’d like to work in counterterrorism eventually.”
“Sounds challenging.”
“I like a challenge. That’s also why I’m worried about…you know…all this…”
“A big blot on your copybook?”
“Yes.”
“There’s probably not an officer in the service who hasn’t made a mistake. I mean, there’s some people would say DCI Banks is a walking disaster area. Our friend Chambers, for a start.”
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