The Beatrice Stubbs Series Boxset One

by JJ Marsh

  “I know.” Swellings grew beneath her eyes and two blotchy triangles took over her cheeks. “He’s not going to do that unless he knows I’m a plant. The thing is, he’s going to make a grab at me. I’m ready for any of this, I really am. But I so hate the idea of being touched by him.”

  The clenched fists, the downward flick of her eyes and the miserable moue on Karen Harrison’s face stalled Beatrice. In an instant, she understood how this girl could not escape. The police force needed him to get as close as possible, to attempt to assault her, to sexually threaten this fine-boned girl. After they caught him, she would be feted and celebrated and given an award ... but she would still be a victim of assault. What the hell were they asking of Harrison? What sort of job was this?

  “Karen, we can’t guarantee he won’t lay a hand on you. But we’ll give you every kind of protection we can. Might mess up your outfit, but I’ll organise a Kevlar vest for you.” Virginia’s voice remained even. “I don’t know if they do underpants, but I will make sure you’re wearing the equivalent. God knows where I’ll find some. DI Stubbs?”

  “Yes, DI Lowe. It would be a privilege to lend PC Harrison a pair of my reinforced concrete knickers. However, we’re clearly different sizes. She may need a pair of braces.”

  The girl’s explosion of laughter was genuine and a convenient chance to release a few tears. Beatrice held onto hers.

  It appeared Harrison’s sense of dread had also affected Virginia. Her 16.00 team briefing was direct and brutal. Beatrice was grateful the girl herself was absent.

  “ ... so if any one of you takes your eye off the ball for a second, half a second, Karen Harrison could be sexually assaulted. She’s a police officer, but she’s also a woman. She’d have to live with that for the rest of her life. And so would we; because we let him get too close. Or she could be wounded. This guy’s ready for physical contact now and could be carrying a knife, a gun, who knows. Ladies and gents, the profilers believe that non-consensual penetrative sex is where Paul Avery is heading. And the chances are high that it will be tonight or tomorrow, because he’s back at work on Sunday. If we mess this up, one of our colleagues could get raped. And there’s another possibility. Maybe he’s already sussed us. He knows she’s a trap. In which case, Karen stands a realistic chance of being killed.

  “Do you understand what Police Constable Harrison is facing? Seriously? Would any one of you want to change places with her tonight? Nope, nor me. So for fuck’s sake, don’t let her down. We’re all she’s got. Good luck.”

  Beatrice followed the team out of the briefing room and headed for the coffee machine. She had no interest in caffeine, but when it came to casual eavesdropping, its location could not be beaten. Pouring a sparkling water and straining to hear a nearby exchange, she was irritated to see Ty Grant’s large, florid bulk in front of her face.

  “DI Stubbs? Look, sorry. I know you’re on a break, but I’d really appreciate a word.”

  “I’ve only got about ten minutes before I go out. Can’t you talk to DI Lowe?”

  His voice dropped. “I’d rather deal with you.”

  Beatrice picked up a paper napkin to give her time to arrange her expression.

  “Come on, then.”

  The interview room, cool and anonymous, brought Grant into unpleasantly close proximity. Unlike her, he seemed at ease with the atmosphere. After setting the comms to silent, Beatrice raised her gaze to him.

  The dam broke. “DI Stubbs, I can’t thank you enough for hearing me out. I did try to explain to DI Lowe, but she thought I had ulterior motives and if I’m honest, and I know I’m out of line for saying this, but some things are bigger than others and she should get over herself.”

  “Grant, you’re not ...”

  “Making any sense? I know. Sorry. I was in that briefing and I heard what DI Lowe said and it scared the living shit out of me, as it should. But I am a whole fucking shitload more scared because from what I’ve seen, we’re following the wrong man.”

  Beatrice studied Ty Grant’s high colour, keen eyes and nervous tics.

  “Be honest with me and I’ll take you seriously, Grant. Have you taken any kind of amphetamines?”

  “Amphetamines? No! No, I’m totally clean. Apart from a Pro-Plus last night. Look, I know I’m acting manic. That’s the point, DI Stubbs. I worked through the night to find any kind of concrete proof on Avery. There’s nothing but circumstantials. So we got Karen out there, showing some tit and hoping to reel in Geek Boy. What if it’s not him?”

  “If not him, who?”

  “Nathan Bennett. Listen, his evidence is just as damning. The logo on the baseball cap? Looks like a woodcut. It’s a gym in Crouch End, called CrossTrain. Paul Avery’s a member, we know. But so’s Nathan Bennett. Both these guys work on the same BTP shift, and the thing is, we really don’t know who’s doing what in that control room unless we’re physically there. And we’re not. We know who’s supposed to be doing which task, but from what I’ve seen, when there’s no senior officer in the room, it seems they spend time on phones or screens or recorded data till they get bored and they switch. So that you can’t be sure who’s on that screen at any given moment.” Ty’s face gave away genuine concern.

  “What about the positive ID? The smell?”

  “We got two positive IDs, Avery and Bennett. The Avery positive came from the bridge woman, who admitted she couldn’t see his face. A ditzy teen and a kid with mental problems confirmed it was the same guy. Apart from the French girl, who fingered Bennett, none of the others could be sure. The ID is far from solid.

  “Smell, I don’t know. But he spends a lot of time at the gym. CrossTrain provided all but one of his alibis. The manager, Carlos da Silva, showed me printouts to prove he’d swiped in and out. But I poked around on Facebook and found some photos of Bennett’s wedding. Carlos da Silva was Bennett’s best man.”

  Beatrice saw the logic. Her blood seemed to sink to her ankles as she considered how easily they had reached the conclusion that Avery was their target. She shook her head.

  “If you’re right, we need to widen the op. The security around PC Harrison remains unchanged. But we have to get officers watching Bennett.”

  “Now, DI Stubbs. Get people on him right now. All our guns are pointing at Avery. Nathan Bennett has the freedom of the city.”

  Beatrice looked into Ty Grant’s eyes and saw fear and hopelessness. She recognised the expression. She’d seen it in the mirror.

  Chapter 31

  A deep-blue Ford Focus sat in a dip on the Pembroke coastal path. Two figures occupied the front seats. One peered into the darkness, head rotating like an owl, while the other slept, curled up under a cashmere rug.

  At five am, a mobile phone emitted a gentle Japanese wind-chime effect.

  “Adrian, turn it off. Quick!”

  Matthew thrust the handset towards him. Adrian took it, killed the alarm and tucked the still bright screen into his jacket, all while waking up. He blinked into the darkness. It was totally pitch black. He couldn’t even see Matthew.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap. But round here, even such a tiny light is like a beacon.”

  Adrian nodded, before realising the gesture was pointless. “Of course. Sorry. That didn’t occur to me. But how are we going to find our way to the cliff? I can’t see enough to find the door handle.”

  “We’ll manage. Your eyes get used to it after a while.”

  Adrian rubbed a hand over his face. “You’ve been awake some time then?”

  “An hour or so. Shall we go?”

  Sleeping in cars was best done as a teenager. Rumpled, dry-mouthed and in need of a fully appointed bathroom, Adrian knew he probably looked like Matthew.

  At least it occurred to him to turn off the interior lights before they exited the vehicle. He closed his door silently, bunted it with his hip to close it properly, slung the strap of his camera around his neck and allowed his eyes to adjust. The moon gave limited illumination through thin c
loud cover and far across the fields, Adrian could see the friendly glow of a single sodium lamp. He followed Matthew through the scrubby grass, scanning each flank as if he were in Platoon until he tripped over a tussock. After that, he kept his eyes on the ground ahead, remaining alert for the glint of binoculars. Although, would binoculars glint if there was no light? He was still pondering this when Matthew held out his hand to stop him. Below them to the right, a vehicle bumped down the track to the beach, using only side-lights. The sight came as a shock and Adrian froze, his pulse pounding with the horrifying realisation that this was real. Actual drug dealers were down there, driving through the dark to an assignation. And he and Matthew, enthusiastic incompetents, were in the right place at the wrong time.

  They should leave. Immediately.

  Matthew watched the SUV till it disappeared from their sightline and turned back with an appreciative smile. “It must be a great feeling for you,” he whispered. “Being proven right.”

  Adrian unlocked his jaw. “Absolutely. You don’t think we should call for backup or anything?”

  “From whom? Come on. Sunrise is due in twenty minutes. We need to be ready.”

  Woefully under-equipped, they lay on their fronts in the dewy grass and gorse or whatever sharp, prickly stuff covered the cliff top. Despite the discomfort to his chest and groin and damage to his silk-mix roll-neck, Adrian appreciated the view. A generous spread of beach seemed to expand as the light swelled behind them and the scene below no longer caused him eye strain. He played with the zoom of his Pentax, bringing the Chelsea Tractor to the centre of the frame. Parked in darkness on the hard standing, the driver sat smoking. He was sure because he’d seen a cigarette lighter flash. Matthew was right about these tiny lights.

  He kept scanning the bay for the smugglers’ boat. Not even a speck.

  “Here they come.” Matthew kept his tone low, but the tension hit Adrian like a whiplash.

  “Where? Could I please have the binoculars for ten seconds? Just ten?”

  There was no reply. Just when it seemed his request had been ignored, Matthew sat up and looped the binoculars over his head.

  “You may have a full minute. I need to attend to a call of nature.” He scuttled back over the gorse ridge.

  The boat was miles away. What kind of boat was that, anyway? A launch? A tug? Who knew? But it had a motor, just audible, a little hut sort of affair on the front, and was heading their way at speed. A light on the shore caught his eye. The SUV door opened and an interior lamp came on. Marie Fisher stepped out, dressed in a fleece and jeans. She lit another cigarette.

  He lifted the binoculars back upwards, searching for the boat. It had come a lot closer while his attention was distracted. A figure was visible at its steering wheel. White hair? Or captain’s hat? He flicked down to Marie Fisher, who was smoking and watching the boat’s progress. Adrian’s heart rate increased and he glanced back for Matthew. The ridge, silent and empty, offered no reassurance.

  Without warning, a huge floodlight hit the cliff, illuminating the beach, the road, the steep rock face and Adrian. He ducked, pressing his face into the grass. The light flicked off the next second, but Adrian remained where he was, breathing in shallow gasps. How lucky he hadn’t been using the binoculars at that moment. The reflection would have been a clear giveaway. Thank his own good judgement for the black polo neck and the fact that blond had never suited him. Rustling through the undergrowth heralded Matthew’s return.

  “What was that flash?” he whispered.

  “Get down! They’ve got a massive light and they flared it at the beach. They might do it again,” Adrian hissed.

  “I doubt it. They were probably checking the coast was clear. Our black outfits came in handy after all. Binoculars, please.”

  Adrian raised his head six inches, lifting the binoculars from under his chest, relieved to get his nose off the ground. The smell concerned him, country bordering on farmyard. He reached for his camera as Matthew continued his observations.

  “The boat has stopped, and I can see our friend with the ponytail. He’s doing something with a rope. There’s another man, older, with white hair, bringing a package onto the deck.” Matthew paused. “I hope to God she’s on her own.”

  “What do you mean? No one else was in that car.” Adrian snapped some shots of the men on the boat, and of Marie, waiting on the shore.

  “If she had accomplices keeping watch, where would they be, do you think?”

  Adrian rolled onto his back, lifted his head from the ground and scanned the lightening horizon. He sent silent thanks to his gym instructor as the position was hell on the abs. The peach-coloured sky softened the contours of the land, revealing shrubs, scrub grass and sheep. He rolled back to Matthew.

  “Can’t see anything.”

  “Quick. Get some shots of this. The two men are on the beach now. The older one has passed the package to Marie. No, it’s a bag, with handles. She’s put it on the ground and is looking inside. It looks more like a basket, you know, but she’s blocking my view. I can’t see what’s in there.”

  Adrian tweaked the zoom, and began clicking the shutter. He watched Marie Fisher’s movements. She was not happy. From her crouching position over the goods, she jabbed her finger at both men, making short, angry gestures to the basket and back to them. If only they could hear her. The men’s faces grew more distinct in the growing light and a seagull cried, as plaintive and haunting as the wail of a baby.

  As if aware of her visibility, Marie picked up the basket, placed it on the passenger seat and got back behind the wheel.

  “Quick!” Matthew crawled backwards, keeping his head low.

  “What now?”

  “Let’s get back to the car, we have to follow her.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Adrian, don’t go all wet on me now. You’ve been a great sport so far.”

  “It’s not that. I’ve been lying in sheep shit.”

  Adrian glanced at the speedometer. 95 miles per hour. Matthew sat rigidly, clenching the steering wheel. Adrian sighed.

  “Slow down. We’ve lost her. Either she turned off somewhere, or picked up speed as soon as she was out of sight. She’s gone.”

  The vehicle dropped back to the speed limit and Matthew exhaled. “My fault. You were right. I should have stayed closer. I was over-cautious about her noticing us.”

  Adrian shook his head. Matthew was such a thoroughly decent man. “Actually, I think you were probably nearer the mark. She’d spotted us and decided to ditch her tail at the first opportunity.”

  “Perhaps she thought we were the police. Her driving was impeccable, sticking just under seventy and always indicating to overtake, despite the paucity of traffic.”

  “So what now?” Disappointed and tired, Adrian’s enthusiasm was running low.

  “Well, first priority is to clean you up. I’m going to pull in at that garage, and you’re going to dispose of that jumper. The stink is truly appalling.”

  He indicated and slowed as they approached the Esso sign. The garage was almost empty. Apart from a large black SUV.

  Adrian saw it first. “Keep going! That’s her. Don’t pull in, Matthew. Just drive!”

  Matthew’s eyes flicked to the mirror. Knocking the indicator off, he picked up speed again.

  “But now we’re ahead of her. How will we know when she turns off?” he asked.

  Matthew asking him what to do struck Adrian as absurd. Neither of them had a clue what they were playing at. They needed Beatrice.

  He feigned a laid-back tone. “We know where she’s going, roughly. We’ll do as she does. Stick around seventy, or just over, and keep her in our sights. Then, after we get onto the motorway, nearer to Cardiff, we let her overtake and tail her again. From her perspective, it won’t look suspicious because there’ll be a lot more traffic as we approach the city.”

  Matthew spent the next ninety minutes checking all three mirrors repeatedly, unable to uphold his end of any con
versation. Adrian observed the tension in his shoulders, brow and face. He’d be exhausted by the time they reached Cardiff.

  After the turn-off to somewhere completely unpronounceable, early morning road usage increased, as Adrian had predicted, and they allowed Marie’s distinctive bullish vehicle to overtake. Matthew hunched towards the windscreen, gripping the wheel with taut hands. The possibility of losing her in the flow of vehicles affected Adrian’s nerves too, so he squinted ahead with determination.

  He saw the indicator light and yelled, “She’s turning off!”

  Matthew jumped and touched the brakes.

  “Sorry, got over-excited,” Adrian said, without taking his eyes from the SUV. Matthew didn’t reply, but drew closer as they took the slip road off the motorway. He kept close on the roundabout, but fell back again as she indicated her exit. Adrian perched on the edge of his seat and picked up his camera. Lots of almost-opportunities to grab a decent shot slipped past, so he replaced it on his lap. The orange light flashed again and she turned towards a place called St Bride’s-super-Ely. They were the only two vehicles on the road, so Matthew allowed her some distance and she disappeared around a bend. They had just regained a visual as she turned left, without indication.

  The bright morning light enabled them to watch the huge black beast’s progress over the top of the country hedges, while remaining safely out of sight. She turned off once more, into a newly built estate of six detached houses. It reminded Adrian of the set of Brookside. Matthew stopped the car just after the entrance, pulling in beside a farm gate. He hopped out of the car, stood on the door chassis and trained his binoculars over the hedge. Adrian got out and listened to Matthew’s low commentary.

  “Out of the car, and she’s heading to one of the houses. She hasn’t got the drugs with her. She’s looking through a bunch of keys. Now she’s opened the front door of number ... seven and gone inside. She’s in a foul temper, you can see that from here. What an unpleasant woman she is. I tell you what, it’s lovely to have some fresh ... hello, she’s back. Opening the car door, picking up the package ...”