by JJ Marsh
“Not DI Lowe, sir. She’s supervising the Finsbury Park op. DI Joshi is assisting, along with DS Grant, both of BTP. Grant’s the sergeant who brought the possible anomaly to my attention.”
Hamilton paused. “Can I suggest, DI Stubbs, in the strongest possible terms, that you stick to your remit? A collaborative effort with the BTP to apprehend a potential rapist. I have less interest in your relations with DI Lowe than the outcome of The X Factor, but I vainly hoped for professionalism, selflessness and an arrest. If you can manage neither of the first two, I’ll settle for the third. Depending on the outcome of your adventures this evening, I suggest a meeting tomorrow. Good evening, Stubbs.”
“Good evening, sir.”
Hamilton’s exasperation depressed Beatrice less than it should. He had no idea she’d split from the main team, which meant Virginia had said nothing. That could be interpreted as loyalty. She picked up the phone again.
Virginia might be loyal, but she was stubborn. Despite the strong evidence to support their pursuit of Bennett, Virginia’s tone was dismissive and short. She was convinced of the target and the lure was cast. Harrison in place, all officers prepared, the two officers tailing Avery awaiting his emergence from his flat, everything was set. Nothing would dissuade her from seeing this through. After agreeing to update every hour, Beatrice wished her colleague luck with the evening’s operation. With some reluctance, Virginia did likewise.
Adrian’s mobile was still switched off. Beatrice didn’t leave a message, trusting him to call when he had news. She wondered if they were still enjoying playing detectives. So long as they were playing it safe. And having more fun than she was. She allowed herself a fond smile.
Kalpana returned from her office wearing cut-off trousers, a long-sleeved T-shirt and her hair loose. She looked about sixteen years old. Beatrice realised how vital the severe bun, smart suits and serious shoes were to maintaining her authority at work.
Kalpana gave her a tight smile. “Ready?”
Beatrice nodded. “Yes. I still can’t get hold of my men-folk, but I’ll just have to trust them to keep out of trouble. Are you all sorted regarding domestic arrangements?”
“Yep. The neighbour feeds my cat if I’m called away like this. Moira’s an animal-loving, widowed telly addict and he’s a greedy, attention-seeking, ginger gigolo. They adore each other. I often think if it happens too often, Scaramanga will pack his catty bags and move round there permanently.”
“Wonderful name for a cat.”
“It suits him.”
While Ty Grant patrolled the Hornsey and Crouch Hill region alone, Beatrice joined Kalpana in her Toyota to scour Crouch End. Between them, they covered the whole area between Bennett’s home and Finsbury Park. Hours of tension solidified Beatrice’s shoulders into setting cement. The radio informed them Harrison left ‘her flat’ and made the journey to Leicester Square without incident, while Paul Avery was in the Snooker Club.
Kalpana seemed tired, so the two women made little small talk, apart from enquiries as to the other’s state of comfort. At five to eleven, Beatrice received a text message. Adrian.
Got an ID for Ponytail. Eoin Connor, Lannagh Farm, Kilmore Road, Ballyharty. Elementary, my dear Stubbs. Ax
She smiled, more relieved than she’d expected to hear they were safe, but instantly began worrying about how he’d got hold of the information.
The next update from Ty provided nothing new and Beatrice’s eyelids started to droop. She scrunched up her face and rubbed her eyes.
Kalpana noticed. “Me too. Shall we pull onto the High Street and get some coffee? I need a shot of caffeine.”
The High Street had a selection of bistros, tapas bars and pubs, but all the coffee shops had long since closed. They drove up and down without success. Finally, Kalpana pulled over outside the newsagents and released her seatbelt.
“Right, so two cans of Red Bull instead. Anything else? You hungry?”
Beatrice shook her head. “Entirely against character, I’m not. Have we given up on coffee, then?”
“Coffee at this time of night means a nasty takeaway or kebab shop. And this is Crouch End. So we’re in the wrong place.” She closed the door and headed into the fluorescent-lit shop.
Beatrice’s head jerked up. We’re in the wrong place. Bennett never attacked near his middle-class home. He targeted poorer Finsbury Park. None of his victims had been glossy Jemimas on their way home from the wine bar, but exhausted Janines on their way home from a twelve-hour shift. He watched his victims carefully, selecting those he thought he could intimidate, grooming those he thought would capitulate. He wouldn’t find many of those round here. Plus the fact these people were his neighbours. It would be soiling his own doorstep.
When Kalpana got back in the car with drinks and samosas, Beatrice explained her thinking. Kalpana got it right away, and drove them back in the direction of Harringay, while tearing into a samosa. Beatrice informed Grant of their change in location, but agreed he was better stationed where he was.
At half past eleven, they parked on Lordship Park. All ears strained to pick up every detail of the commentary from the radio. Harrison had caught the Tube and was heading north. Everyone was in position and poised for action. Avery was still in the middle of a game, a fact that was relayed to Harrison. Virginia’s voice advised her to delay returning to the flat. Harrison exited the station, stood by the bus stop sending a text message and finally headed towards the Snooker Club.
“She can hear us, then?” Kalpana asked.
“Oh yes. And we can hear her. One of the reasons for the title of ‘Operation Robert’ is because that’s her alarm word. If she says ‘Robert’, in any context, we mobilise.”
“Is that in homage to Robert Peel?”
Beatrice beamed. “You are the first person who hasn’t required an explanation. Well done. The thing is, I am completely torn. If she gets home safely, I’ll be delighted. And almost equally disappointed. It means he’s still out there somewhere.”
“I get it. Sometimes, you just get sick of waiting.”
PC Fitzgerald informed them that Paul Avery had left the club and was heading in the direction of his own flat. Karen Harrison anticipated his route and walked ahead of him on Blackstock Road. He seemed to be following her and gaining. Virginia’s voice warned all units that Harrison was turning onto Somerfield Road, approaching the police flat. To Beatrice, it seemed even the radio was holding its breath. However, Avery continued along Blackstock Road, heading for home and showing no interest in following the lure. No one spoke until Harrison arrived at the police flat and the applause and whistles began.
“You see, we’re all confused. Harrison got home without incident. Hooray. But we failed. He didn’t pick up our lure and rather than banging him into a cell tonight ...”
Kalpana picked up her thought. “... we have to do this all over again.”
“You don’t. You’ve done enough. In fact, you could head off home now, if you like. Other officers will be available to support Grant and me.”
“I’ll stick with you for another hour. If all’s still quiet, I’ll leave you to it.”
Virginia’s mood seemed a similar mix of disappointment and relief, but she agreed easily to Beatrice’s request. She offered to alert the Control Centre to scan all footage for Bennett’s presence and sent ten officers to patrol with Beatrice and Grant. Another two already stood watch outside Avery’s flat. Beatrice handed coordination duties to Grant, both out of respect and exhaustion. With a guilty twinge, she remembered the sergeant had lost sleep too.
Conversation became easier after Harrison’s safe arrival, or possibly due to the caffeine. Driving around the suburban streets, Kalpana talked about growing up in Hackney, in a culture of respect, obedience and cooperation. “So the police seemed a natural choice. My parents weren’t keen, and I had a hard time getting accepted, not because I was Asian or female. The problem was being such a shortarse. But when I came home with my first uniform,
my folks almost burst with pride. Even my brothers couldn’t stop boasting, and they make a living out of things that fall off the back of a lorry.”
“You’ve certainly made a success of it. And I noticed how much respect you command from your team. That can’t have been easy,” Beatrice said.
“Thank you. I appreciate a compliment like that coming from you. I fought some battles, but I was the middle girl of the family. Two brothers older, two younger. I was used to holding my own. But things were easier for my generation because of women like you. You carved a path through the force long before the words ‘women’ and ‘career’ were ever heard in the same sentence.”
Beatrice inclined her head, accepting the compliment. “My turn to thank you. Although I’m not flattered by the allusion to mediaeval times. I was born in 1954, you know.”
“Like I said. The fifties. Before career women. Before female detectives. Probably before fish fingers.”
Beatrice’s laughter was interrupted by the radio. Quarter to one. Nothing to report. Avery’s lights were out, no sign of Bennett.
Beatrice turned to Kalpana. “Why don’t you knock off?”
“You sure? I’m happy to hang on.”
“No, Kalpana. You’ve been a great help. Where do you live?”
“Still in Hackney. But not with my Mum and Dad.”
“Glad to hear it. If you could drop me at Finsbury Park, I’ll join Ty Grant and keep watch for another few hours. Bennett will have to go home then, as his supposed shift finishes at six. Once he’s in his own house, I’ll feel able to get some sleep.”
Kalpana yawned widely, setting Beatrice off. “OK. Only because I have a meeting at half eight. But call me if anything happens.”
“Fair enough. And would you let me know when you get in? Just so I know you didn’t nod off at the wheel and drive into a reservoir.”
“No chance. As soon as I’ve dropped you off, I’m going to listen to break core all the way home.”
“I don’t think I like the sound of that. Women my age are much more at home with a fourteenth century madrigal.”
Kalpana’s face creased with laughter and she looked remarkably pretty.
Quarter past one and fatigue was beginning to show. Frustrated by the lack of urgency demonstrated by the remainder of the team, Grant became flushed and inarticulate. The pairs dispersed to search the streets for Bennett, but Beatrice had her suspicions that most of them would spend the next four-and-a-half hours moaning about Ty Grant. He’d had enough. So had she. But Nathan Bennett hadn’t.
She joined Grant and they drove for the twelfth time up Green Lanes.
Chapter 35
As she swung into Sutton Square, Kalpana turned down the sounds of Venetian Snares. Drum beats from passing vehicles were part of Hackney life, but on this quiet square, she chose to keep her neighbours sweet. She parked the car on the tiny forecourt and noted the time in luminous digits on the dashboard. Twenty-five past one. She had to be up again in five hours.
So what? There was only one decent course of action and she’d done the right thing, out of a sense of obligation to Beatrice and her team. A member of her own staff was responsible for these attacks. She had a duty to help catch him.
She locked the car and identified her front door key, glancing two doors down to Moira’s house. As if she was likely to see him now. He’d be curled up in a ginger ball on Moira’s bed, purring like a chainsaw.
She smiled to herself, opened the front door and reached for the light. In the few seconds before she hit the hall carpet, she registered three things. The rapid crunching sound of footsteps on gravel, a hand shoving her forcefully into the house and a strong smell of feet.
The heels of her hands suffered carpet burns as she broke her fall. Adrenalin pulsing, she rolled onto her backside, ready to defend herself as the light came on. Nathan Bennett stood smiling at her, wearing a baseball cap and carrying a backpack.
“Here I am, ma’am. Just like you asked.”
The stench was nauseating. Bennett sat opposite her, forearms on his knees, peeling the label from his beer bottle, with a permanent grin playing across his face. Kalpana was tempted to take a swig from her Pilsner, just to block out the odour for a second, but needed to keep her mind as sharp as it could be. She had to work out what the hell he was thinking. He acted as if he’d turned up as a result of an invitation, accepted the offer of a beer, refused anything to eat, all with the casual demeanour of a friend popping round. Nothing about his behaviour was threatening, apart from pushing her into the house at two in the morning, and he seemed relaxed, sober and pleased to be there. Kalpana knew her best hope of getting out of this unscathed would be to talk. Tidal waves of terror made this an awkward prospect, but she had no other ideas.
“So, it’s nice of you to come round. I was just wondering ... to what do I owe the honour?” Her voice sounded girlish and false.
He exhaled through his nose, a dry laugh. “I should be asking you that question. Why did you choose me?” He reddened and a jolt of alarm shot through her as she realised he was blushing.
His eyes remained on the ground. “Look, it sounds like I’m fishing for compliments, which I suppose I am. But I really would like to know. Why me, Kalpana?”
Kalpana frowned at the familiar address and her tone was impatient. “Why you what? What are you talking about, Bennett?”
His face darkened and his mouth pinched into a bitter line. “Don’t call me that! I have two perfectly good first names.”
She stiffened and waited till he seemed to gain control of his temper. He was muttering.
He looked up at her and sighed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bite your head off. But seriously, what kind of relationship are we going to have if you still treat me as if we’re at work?”
Kalpana’s nails dug into the upholstery, as he gave her a conciliatory smile.
“It took me a while. I have to hand it to you, you’re subtle. No one at work could ever have guessed. And when I did cotton on, I couldn’t believe you’d pick me.”
You have a choice, Kalpana told herself. Try forcing him back to reality, or enter his skewed view of the world. The risks of both are enormous. Just by using the correct form of address, he’d flared up, ugly and angry. If he lost it and hit her, she had a feeling her self-defence training wouldn’t help much. Or she could play along, discover what twisted thinking had made him decide to visit her, wait for her and physically shove her into her house. She had no idea what he’d done with the key. And she wondered, as the surges of dread threatened to overwhelm her, what the hell was in that backpack?
“When did you ‘cotton on’?” she asked, her voice unsteady.
His grin was shy and pleased. “It wasn’t like one big revelation. More little clues. Like just recently, when you told me that with my ambition, I could go far, in that voice. But at first, I told myself I was imagining it.”
You were, you twisted fucking loser. You were! Kalpana clamped her lips together, refusing to allow her thoughts to tip the balance.
“You know, you’re the first female boss I’ve had. And it seemed such a cliché, the office romance. I tried not to think about it, but the tension was driving me insane. I had to do some stuff, let off steam. Yeah, that shit was all your fault,” he laughed, his tone teasing.
That shit? Kalpana searched for some kind of appropriate response. None came.
His colour heightened and he shifted forward to the edge of the sofa. A foul whiff of cheese and sweat triggered another wave of sickening fear in Kalpana’s stomach.
“I’ll be honest, pretty soon I couldn’t think about anything else. You, in your pinstriped suits. I could just imagine what you had on underneath. Those cute little heels, your tied-up hair, I fantasised, time and time again about taking your hair down ...”
His breath was short and his colour high. He was aroused. Kalpana panicked.
“But you’re married ...” she couldn’t call him Nathan. It would only add to his
deluded sense of intimacy. “What about your wife?”
His grin spread. “The wedding. That was when I first started to believe it. You came to the evening do, you kissed me and you whispered in my ear, remember?”
“I remember kissing you both on the cheek and saying congratulations.”
“I know. I got it. That was when you told me you were giving yourself to me as a present. From then on, I watched the signs. I kept a diary of all those little signals, all the little messages you sent. Every one. And finally, you made your move.”
Kalpana’s fear took on a new shape and tears built as she saw the extent of the psychosis in front of her. “My move?”
The phone rang, making them both start. Kalpana lost her grip on her beer bottle. It slipped to the floor and spilt over the carpet. Bennett looked at her and wagged a forbidding finger. The machine clicked in.
“Leave a message after the tone. Please speak clearly.”
“Kalpana, it’s Beatrice. If you are already in bed, then I apologise. No news at this end, but you did promise to call when you got in. It’s now quarter past two and I’ve heard nothing. Could you please give me a quick call or text, otherwise I will have to come round, or send a patrol car to check that you’re all right. Call me a Mother Hen, but ...”
Bennett scowled, grabbed his bag and with a jerk of his head, indicated the phone. She moved to answer it, feeling Bennett press himself against her, one arm around her waist, the other holding a large blade just under her left ear. Cold steel and the foul stench made her flesh crawl.
“Tell her you’re home and put it down,” he whispered, and reached down to press the speakerphone.
Kalpana picked up. “Beatrice! Sorry, I completely forgot to call. Yes, I got home safely.”
“Oh, you are there. Good. That’s all I wanted to know. I’ll let you get some sleep.”
She was going to ring off, leaving Kalpana alone with a mentally unstable deviant, who’d chosen to bring a hunting knife to his imaginary date. What else had he got in his bag? Her hands shook and she felt Bennett’s arm tighten around her waist, pressing his erection into her back.