by JJ Marsh
“You’re more than welcome. Your appreciation is my reward. Are you well?”
“In rude health, thank you. And you?”
“Almost normal, apart from a certain frustration at a loss of research data. Beatrice told you of our mishap in Pembrokeshire, I presume? When my camera was stolen, I lost a fair few images which were important to my work. I should learn from Beatrice’s example and always make a back-up.”
“Yes, she did tell me. To be truthful, Matthew, that’s my other reason for calling. I hope you won’t mind, but I’ve tried talking to Beatrice about this a couple of times. She’s so absorbed in chasing her flasher, she seems to have lost all interest in this case.”
“Which case would that be?”
Adrian explained the photographs, taking care not to mention the stolen laptop, outlined his theory and stressed his conviction that someone, somewhere really should investigate. Matthew was silent for a long time.
“It’s decent of you to be concerned, but I’m not really sure how I can help. Chasing the Welsh police is likely to be counter-productive. The local inspector has already told Beatrice to keep her beak out.”
“I agree. Which is why I thought you and I might be able to lend a hand.”
“Taking on the role of the Hardy Boys while Nancy Drew is occupied?” he asked.
“Well ...” Adrian didn’t want to admit it, but he was thinking more along the lines of Poirot and Hastings.
“Despite the fact that Beatrice has access to all the necessary resources, possesses years of expertise and experience, and bearing in mind this may not even be in her jurisdiction, you think we should poke about and ask questions, possibly jeopardising any official investigation?”
Adrian found Matthew’s tone patronising. “My angle was more as support. Matthew, Beatrice has no time to apply all her resources and etcetera. All her time and energy is dedicated to this dirty raincoat. And rightly so. But she’s frustrated by the fact she hasn’t got time to make enquiries. She told me she couldn’t allow me to investigate alone. The way I see it, there’s nothing stopping the two of us doing some helpful groundwork, asking casual questions, making enquiries in a subtle fashion and then handing over our findings when she’s got time to take it seriously.”
“That sounds reasonable. But I don’t think she’ll be keen.”
“Nor do I. She’d probably issue a three-line whip. Which is why I called you, to see if we can’t manage something discreet and supportive, but keep it to ourselves. A sort of gentleman’s investigation.”
Matthew laughed. “A gentleman’s investigation. Well, that’s certainly an idea. It could liven up my summer holiday no end. Why don’t you tell me what you have in mind?”
“Great! It would be better to do that face to face. Who’s doing the travelling this weekend? Is she coming to you?”
“No, she’s staying in London and I’ve been given the choice. She will have to work part of the time, so if I can promise to amuse myself, I am allowed to come for a visit. That fits in rather well with our potential scheme, I’d say.”
Adrian smiled. “It most certainly does. And I’m free all weekend during the day. I have a dress rehearsal on Friday and my performance is on Saturday night. Oh, I’m so pleased you’re up for this. All detectives should have a sidekick, because apart from anything else, it’s so boring on your own. So, see you sometime over the weekend? Do you have my mobile number?”
“I do, but I might just pop downstairs and knock on your door, when I get a chance. I wish you all the very best with the show, break a leg and all that. And yes, you’re right. All the best detecting tales involve an older, wiser professional supported by a keen young pup. See you on Saturday at some point. Thanks for calling, Adrian, I appreciate your trust.”
As Adrian hung up and returned to the computer, he tingled with anticipation. All the fun of detective work with none of the unattractive uniforms, paperwork or politics. He just hoped that Matthew understood the situation. Keen young pup, indeed. No one puts Adrian in the chorus.
Chapter 15
“Morning everybody and thanks for coming. As you all know, this is a special operation and let’s just get one thing straight. I’ve heard more than one person saying, why the fuss, it’s just a flasher. Well, that stops as of now. There is a far more serious reason for getting this man off the streets.” Virginia paused, her eyes scanning the room.
Beatrice did the same, searching for any tell-tale sneers, any significant looks, any evidence of disbelief. Such officers would be either replaced or stuck on paper detail. Both women had agreed they wanted total commitment from all involved. None of the twenty-six faces; British Transport personnel, constables from the Hackney, Islington and Haringey boroughs, Safer Neighbourhood officers and Met Police Volunteers, showed anything but curious interest.
“Right, so I’ll hand you over to Doctor Simon Rosenbaum, our specialist profiler.”
The presence of the profiler increased attention from the assembly. Beatrice noted shifts in seats and a few slouchers straightening up. Rosenbaum’s appearance was unremarkable. His fair hair was thinning, his eyes were grey and his clothes – a striped shirt with no tie, jeans and deck shoes – reminded Beatrice of Sundays in Greenwich Park.
“Good morning folks. DI Lowe has asked me to explain the reasoning behind this case, as it is largely due to my concerns that you’re all here. I work with a team of psychologists and behavioural experts at University College, London. We’ve collaborated over the past six years with nine other European universities, all of which have strong links with their local police forces. Our research, compiled from six years of data on sex offenders, shows a pattern.
“The vast majority of those who indecently expose themselves are no cause for concern. Exhibitionism, drunkenness, a momentary misjudgement ...”
“A wardrobe malfunction,” added Ty Grant, to general laughter. Virginia joined in. Beatrice, hiding her irritation at the interruption, smiled briefly. Rosenbaum handled it well.
“Precisely. That can happen too. But these are people that do it once, and with a different set of objectives. When someone exposes himself, and it is usually a male, with the intent to intimidate, frighten or shock the recipient, we class that as a sexual offence. Now, those who repeat the offence are the ones we need to watch. Point one: repeat exposers frequently demonstrate other kinds of anti-social behaviour, which is often an indication of some social maladjustment. Point two: the offences generally become more serious. In these cases, we have found that the offender is likely to assault, even rape and on some occasions, kill. We are working with forces all over Europe to try and encourage greater awareness of this phenomenon and thereby prevent serious sexual assaults.”
His message provoked sober nods and thoughtful expressions.
“Our Finsbury Park man is following the behavioural sequence exactly. Just from the cases we know about, the incidents are increasing in frequency; he started off roughly once a fortnight. In the last three weeks, we’ve received three reports, and this week he’s struck twice. Not only that, but at first it was one woman, usually in the small hours. The last two incidents: two foreign students leaving a friend’s flat at around 10.30pm. The friend was an earlier victim. Any alarm bells ringing yet?
“Then he waited for two girls, aged thirteen, and encouraged one to put her hand in his pocket. When she refused, he opened his coat and pressed the girl’s hand to his genitals. He was interrupted, fortunately, or it might have gone further.
“I cannot stress highly enough how urgent this is. My team and I believe he will commit a serious sexual assault in the next few days. Your job is to stop that happening.”
Rosenbaum sat down, and Beatrice could see how the atmosphere was galvanised by a sense of collective responsibility. Good job, Doctor Rosenbaum.
Virginia gave it a second before she got to her feet. Her sleeveless scarlet polo-neck, paired with pedal pushers, gave her the air of Jeanne Moreau. “We’re grateful to
you and your team, Dr Rosenbaum. Right, this is how it’s going to work. The guy’s victims have nothing more in common than their gender and the fact they all use Finsbury Park Tube. He selects them, follows them, understands their habits and chooses his moment. He’s very aware of cameras. He hasn’t yet been recorded. We believe he learns their routine and follows them from the Underground.
“We run two parallel plans of attack. First, surveillance teams in pairs stationed in and around the Tube station. In your briefing pack, page nine, you’ll find your partners and your locations on the map, specifically chosen to be in the gaps between cameras. You watch, you wait. In shifts from six till six. We’re looking for a man acting suspiciously, wearing the gear described on page thirteen. Or a woman alone, especially the more vulnerable. He’s picked on a train cleaner, a primary schoolteacher, a foreign student, a barista, a new immigrant, two contract cleaners, those students and now these teenage girls. That we know of. Now I’ll ask DI Stubbs to describe procedure.”
Heads lifted toward Beatrice. Her skirt suit and flats gave her the air of Miss Marple.
“Hello everyone. Priority number one is to get this man into custody. If you’re suspicious, follow him. Do not let him know you’re there. Do not attempt to apprehend unless you are sure of success. If we scare this man and lose him, he will run. He may wait a few weeks, he may change his patch, but he won’t stop. We are not advertising our presence, we’re not a deterrent, we want him where he cannot terrorise any more women. This activity will be called Operation Robert, and Robert will be your codeword to alert other teams that you are following a suspect.”
Grant was grinning. “Operation Robert? Shouldn’t it be Operation John Thomas?”
At least some of the meathead’s colleagues found him distasteful, judging by the mixture of subdued sniggers and disgusted glares.
Beatrice fixed her gaze on Grant’s ruddy, self-satisfied face. “The reason we decided on Operation Robert was in acknowledgement of Robert Peel, founder of the Metropolitan Police Force as we know it. As I’m sure you’re aware, this is why police officers used to be described as ‘Peelers.’ Also, Robert is an innocuous name which is unlikely to attract attention in an awkward situation. The reason we decided against Operation John Thomas was that, unlike you, Sergeant, we find nothing amusing about sexual assault. Does anyone have any more pertinent questions?”
Grant looked at Virginia in confusion. After a second’s discomfort, a female officer raised a hand. “The girls, on Wednesday. That’s quite a distance from Finsbury Park Tube.”
Beatrice nodded. “They go to a dance school in Arsenal. They catch the Tube and the twenty-nine bus back to Green Lanes, then walk along the riverbank. It’s quite a journey. Recently they’ve been doing it every night, at exactly the same time.”
The officer wrinkled her nose. “He followed them all that way? Stalker.”
“Exactly. Which leads me to the second plan. DI Lowe?”
Virginia shot her a look. If that was intended as some kind of disapproval regarding her remark to Grant, they would have words. That man was an oaf.
Virginia took Beatrice’s place in front of their team.
“Honey trap. Sergeant Grant and Sergeant de Freitas will be hovering at Finsbury Park Tube Control Centre. They’ll be watching all the exits and entrances, all the in and outs.”
Grant gave Virginia a sly smile.
“Meanwhile, Constable Harrison of BTP is our decoy. She’ll be leaving early and returning late. We’re hoping our man will spot her and make her a target. She’ll have a team of three officers nearby at all times, watching her, and watching anyone who’s watching her. Harrison, you want to introduce yourself?”
Harrison raised her index finger to identify her presence. With a jerk of her head, Virginia indicated she should stand. Reluctantly, the constable pushed out of her chair, and glanced around the judgemental faces. Everyone was thinking the same thing: is the lure attractive enough?
Her short blonde hair was cropped close to her head, framing a milky complexion now reddened with embarrassment. Her uniform did not flatter her skinny frame. She wore no make-up, but her eyes seemed bright and lively.
Virginia continued. “Harrison will be playing Party Girl. Well, obviously we’ll dress her up a bit, pile on the slap and she’ll pass. The plan is for her to act like she’s spent the whole night on the alco-pops and is off her head.”
“Should be a doddle for you, Karen.” Grant just couldn’t keep his mouth shut. This whole briefing drove Beatrice to distraction. She had never experienced such sloppy attitudes and poor discipline. Hamilton would have had a fit.
She turned with a frown to stare at Big Mouth and even Virginia adopted a warning tone, saying, “Ty.”
He merely grinned back as the constable sat and lowered her head.
“Read your packs carefully, and get some sleep tomorrow, because you’re all going on twelve-hour shifts. Any questions, DI Stubbs and I will be happy to answer them. Thanks all and best of luck.”
On the grim march back to Virginia’s office, both women strode side-by-side, breathing through their noses, keeping an ostentatious hold on their tempers. Beatrice pictured a pair of livid chickens, on their way to a hen fight.
She’d barely closed the door before Virginia began. Standing behind her chair, she slammed the heel of her hand onto the desk.
“What in the name of God do you think you’re playing at? Do you want to poison this whole team against us before we start? Ty Grant is probably one of the most popular men on this op and you start by making him look an insensitive fool!”
Virginia had taken the high position, on her feet, taller, louder and demonstrably angry. Although she’d rather not, Beatrice could play status games. She pulled out the chair opposite, sat and kept her voice and expression calm.
“He didn’t need my help for that. And he’s not the only one. Insensitivity? How do you think Karen Harrison felt during that briefing? You exposed her and basically said, ‘OK, so she looks bloody awful now, but we can sort that out’. Then you allow Grant his little pot shot at discrediting her ...”
“For fuck’s sake, Beatrice, can’t you take a joke? He was trying to lighten the atmosphere. He works, and has always worked, as the team glue. Keeping morale high, voicing many people’s unspoken thoughts, he’s solid gold.”
“I see it differently. First he attempts to demean and belittle this op with his suggestion of a better name. Then he makes a slur against a colleague, albeit couched in humour. This is exactly the sort of behaviour we agreed not to tolerate. But now you seem to have changed your mind. Why is that? Is it personal, Virginia?”
In Gibraltar one year, Beatrice and Matthew spent many happy hours watching the monkeys. One could learn much from watching the interactions of a bunch of apes. Beatrice had noted one particular expression, which remained with her. When crossed, one of these primates’ frowns would clear as it pulled up its scalp. The effect was to reveal the whites of the eyes, she supposed. Whatever the reason, it signalled danger. Virginia did something very similar. Her face went blank and hard, as if a line had been crossed.
“Are you calling my judgement into question, Beatrice?”
“Frankly, yes. I’m sorry to say this, but your treatment and tolerance of the men on your team is very different to the way you handle the women. As far as your department is concerned, that’s your own affair. But as Operation Robert is a joint effort, I cannot allow a case like this to bear any tones of sexism. We are going to have to find a compromise.”
“I knew it. Just when I thought we were making progress, you have to score petty points. I presume this is down to Dawn Whittaker? You are determined to punish me for that three-minute indiscretion and just waited for the right moment to raise sexual politics. That’s bullshit, Beatrice, and you know it!”
“I am not prepared to discuss what happened between you and Ian Whittaker. That has nothing to do with this case. I assure you, had I never heard
about that, my reaction today would have been the same. You treat certain team members differently and it’s counter-productive. The atmosphere you created today encourages the nudge, snigger and snort attitude to a situation that apparently disturbs your sleep. I think you need to nail your colours to the flagpole. If you take this seriously, so will your team.”
Virginia glared at her and then turned to the white board, apparently studying the data gathered so far. Silence echoed around the room, the change in tempo as unnerving as the shouting.
Virginia spoke. “What are you doing this afternoon?”
“Talking to victims again, with Harrison. You?”
“Calling at Finsbury Park Tube station, talking to security.”
“Good. Shall we debrief tomorrow unless something major occurs?” Beatrice stood.
“Sure. Have a good afternoon.”
“You too.” As she left the office, Beatrice sensed something. A feeling of freshly tilled ground, of ashes and earth, of potential.
Chapter 16
Ray whacked the doors shut and banged home the deadbolts. Jules relaxed. Gorgeous sound. On his way back to the bar, Ray unplugged the fruit machine. Jules switched off the stereo and silence rushed into the space. Even more gorgeous. She loved the peace. Maybe she was getting too old for this game. Ray lined up the remaining empties on the bar and Jules set to stacking them in the glass washer. Neither of them said a word. While that cycle went through, she took the wheelie-bin of empties down the slope to the cellar, rinsing it out and trying to shake the unsettled feeling that hung on her like damp clothes. She’d made a lot of mistakes tonight. Tiredness, partly, but also that staring bloke at the bar. Made her uncomfortable, being watched like that, made her clumsy. He’d gone, eventually. But if he ever came back and did that again, she’d ask him if he wanted a photo.
Ray was restacking the machine when she got upstairs. “Want a drink, Jules? I reckon you earned it tonight.”