The Beatrice Stubbs Series Boxset One

by JJ Marsh

  “Thanks for calling, Beatrice. I really appreciate it.”

  “No problem. See you tomorrow. Give my love to Scaramanga.”

  The pressure on her neck increased, bringing with it an instant of inspiration.

  “I will. Give my love to Robert. Good nig...”

  Bennett cut her off.

  He released her and stood back, grinning broadly. “Well done. I like it when an officer obeys orders.”

  Kalpana turned with a tearful smile. “So, how about another drink? And then you can finish telling me how you worked it all out?”

  He stared at her, eyes tracing her form, all the way down her body.

  “I think I’m done talking. You didn’t invite me round here to talk. What the fuck are you wearing? Those clothes are ugly. I thought you’d have made more effort for me tonight.” His face was cold and hard.

  She shook her head, unable to speak, tears falling freely.

  He picked up his backpack. “Fortunately, I’ve brought you some presents.”

  Chapter 36

  Beatrice pressed End Call and sat back in her seat, yawning.

  “All OK?” asked Grant.

  “Yes, she just forgot, that’s all. Seems paranoia is my constant companion these days.”

  “That’s understandable, ma’am. Where to now?”

  That’s understandable? Another of those comments. Beatrice decided this was her opportunity to ask Grant exactly what he knew. He had made far too many references to her condition, indicating a distinct familiarity with the subject. She would pressure him until she found out how widespread the knowledge of her breakdown had become.

  “Where are we?”

  “Clissold Park. Who’s Scaramanga?”

  “Let’s do Green Lanes again. It’s the name of her cat. You don’t know Scaramanga? He’s a Bond villain, played by Christopher ... oh my God.”

  Beatrice reacted as if she’d jumped into freezing water; her skin tightened, her stomach contracted and she gasped short breaths.

  Grant braked instinctively, scanning the street for danger. “What?”

  “Bennett’s there! After I said, ‘Give my love to Scaramanga,’ she said, ‘Give my love to Robert.’ Bloody hell, Grant, it’s the alarm signal, I told her about it tonight. He’s there! He’s got her. Drive to Hackney! Now! I have to find her address.”

  He executed a rapid U-turn and drove at speed down Green Lanes and onto Balls Pond Road. All sense of tiredness evaporated as Beatrice made a series of emergency calls. When she’d got confirmation of Kalpana’s address from the Control Centre, Beatrice called the team. “We need all officers to 91 Sutton Square, off Urswick Road. Approach with stealth, we don’t want him to know we’re there.”

  She informed Virginia, who promised to meet them at the scene. Her question frightened Beatrice. Why Kalpana? Why indeed? Was she the last in the line? In which case, what did he plan for his final assault? As they drove up Dalston Lane, Beatrice felt pathetically inadequate. How to get Kalpana out of there without injury?

  “What would you do in this situation, Grant?”

  His face seemed pale in the occasional oncoming headlight. “Scope the place and make a decision fast. Every second we waste ...”

  Beatrice scrunched up her toes, unable to imagine what a delay would mean to Kalpana. She had to get this right, first time. She picked up the phone again and requested authorisation for body armour and firearms.

  Although barging in heavy-handed might provoke a disproportionate reaction to being threatened, she knew he was likely to be carrying weapons. Attempts to negotiate presupposed an ability to get him to talk. Ideally, they could get into the house silently, wait for their moment and grab Bennett with no danger to Kalpana. But how were they to get in, unless through the cat-flap?

  The cat.

  Kalpana said her neighbour took care of him if she worked late. Something Scottish ... Moira! In order to get the cat, Moira must have a key.

  “How much farther now?”

  “It’s over there, ma’am. This is Urswick Road, and that’s Sutton Square on the right. I’ll park here.”

  Beatrice fumbled with her belt and scrambled out. “We need to contact her neighbour who has a key, but let’s find number 91 first.”

  As soon as they entered the square, Grant identified the numbering pattern and indicated that the second house on the opposite side was 91. They navigated a path around the ornamental pond, keeping their eyes fixed on the modern terraced house. A light was on downstairs, but the curtains were drawn. A movement to their right indicated the arrival of PC Fitzgerald and PC Hyen. Beatrice joined them under the laburnum bush which screened them from view.

  “Check the houses either side and a couple more further down. She has a neighbour, Moira something, who looks after her cat and has a key. Don’t be alarmist, just explain we need access to Inspector Joshi’s house, and it must be now. Grant will try to see what’s going on in there, and I’ll wait here to meet the others.” Her voice surprised her. She sounded calm and in control, conveying no reflection of the frantic cramps in her stomach.

  Grant nodded and squeezed past Kalpana’s Toyota, taking care to remain on paving stones and not to tread on the gravel. He moved with impressive speed and grace for such a great lump of a man and Beatrice’s admiration surfaced above the barely controlled panic. A light went on upstairs and Beatrice froze.

  “Ma’am?”

  Two other teams had arrived and waited in the darkness. Beatrice raised a finger for patience and returned her attention to the house. Grant stood in the porch, peering through the curtain into the still-lit front room. No one moved. Minutes ticked past. Grant moved to the front door, lifted the letterbox and craned forward, as if listening. The upstairs light went off again and the curtains moved a fraction, as if a gust of air had caught them. Grant slid back past the vehicle towards the team. Beatrice turned to see the remaining four officers and Virginia joining the group. She motioned them back behind the bush. No sign of Fitzgerald and Hyen yet.

  Grant acknowledged his colleagues with a nod. “Sounds like he’s in the front room and he’s sent her upstairs to get something. I heard him shout, ‘I’m waiting’, but I didn’t hear a thing out of her.”

  Virginia winced. “So why are we all standing around here? Let’s get in there and arrest him before he goes any further.”

  “DI Lowe, I sent two officers to retrieve a key from the neighbour. I’d rather not go in all guns blazing, just in case the fear factor provokes him. We need to surround the house completely. Some of you will need to find the back alley which must run behind these gardens. Grant, can you allocate places for six of the team in case he tries to run?”

  Beatrice took Virginia to one side. “When we get the key, I suggest we get Grant and Fitzgerald in body armour in there to overpower him. We’ll follow right behind, backed up by four more officers. Everyone else remains out here as a safety precaution ... here’s PC Fitzgerald.”

  Fitch held up a key. “Moira Hilliard. Three doors down. Hyen stayed with the old girl, she’s off on one. But this is the key to the front door.”

  Virginia seemed to wake up. “Right. Ty, Fitch, get your kit on. You’re going in first.”

  They left the team in position, while Beatrice followed Virginia and the two men to the vehicles. Despite her revulsion towards firearms, her training enabled her to ready her gun automatically, leaving her brain free to think. As they prepared themselves, Virginia spoke. “Listen up, we’re going to brief you as you dress. Time is crucial. DI Stubbs?”

  Beatrice swallowed her surprise and donned her holster. She gave in to her impatience to take control.

  “Don’t take any chances. Wait for the right moment when he can’t get to her before you get to him. Disarm him, get him in cuffs and no more. We’ll be right behind you, ready to back you up. Use of weapons, as always, only in extreme circumstances. Injuries to yourselves, Inspector Joshi or even him in this operation are unacceptable.”
>
  Two heads nodded and Beatrice handed Grant the key. Scurrying back to the house, Virginia silently pointed out the order of officers to follow. Beatrice and Virginia were two and three. The team assumed positions. Grant and Fitzgerald were already at the door, Grant turning the key imperceptibly and listening. It opened and the two men crept inside. Beatrice and Virginia slid alongside the car, ears alert for any sound.

  Entering the hallway, Beatrice saw the outlines of Grant and Fitzgerald pressed against either side of the living-room door. A faint voice, almost chanting, could be heard. Grant’s hand on the doorknob moved in millimetres, and Beatrice’s breath had become so short it barely reached her lungs. Grant crouched and pushed open the door gently. The voice continued.

  “... told you to do it slowly. Now turn round. Good. And now bend over. Bend over and touch your toes. Look at me. Look at me between your legs.”

  She heard Virginia exhale and an uneven shiver crawled over her own skin. Grant eased his head into the room, then kicked open the door, shouting, “Freeze! Hands in the air!”

  Fitzgerald dashed after him and Beatrice heard the release of the safety catch from his weapon. Beatrice, Virginia and their support officers rushed in to see the backs of Grant and Mitchell aiming their guns directly ahead; Kalpana Joshi in underwear, standing on a heap of pinstripes on the coffee table; and Nathan Bennett sitting in the armchair, with both hands up, trousers down and a fast-deflating penis. A foul smell of feet filled the air.

  Virginia holstered her weapon and approached Bennett, kicking away the knife at his feet. The movement seemed to snap him back to reality. He narrowed his eyes at Kalpana.

  “What the fuck is this? How did you call them? What did you do, you dirty slut? I took your phone, for fuck’s sake! How did you do it? You lying, sly little bitch!”

  Kalpana stood there, half-naked, staring at him with a look of profound revulsion.

  As Fitzgerald read Bennett his rights and Grant put on the cuffs, Beatrice picked up the sofa throw to cover Kalpana. Virginia informed the officers waiting outside of the successful arrest. Bennett’s voice rose, insistent and ugly. Easing Kalpana from the glass table, Beatrice could feel the woman’s trembles through the chenille. Bennett was shouting over Fitzgerald as Grant pulled him to his feet and yanked up his trousers.

  “You can’t arrest me! She fucking invited me, the prick-tease! Ask her!”

  Kalpana turned to face him, her face livid. The shakes were not, as Beatrice assumed, born of fear, but of barely-controlled temper.

  “Get out of my house, Bennett. You disgust me. And you fucking stink.”

  Grant and Fitzgerald led him from the room, still hurling abuse at his superior officer. Virginia snapped on gloves to pick up the knife and bag it, casting sympathetic glances at Kalpana’s slight form.

  “Kalpana? Can we call anyone for you? PC Hyen says your neighbour is outside.”

  “Thanks, Virginia. Could you let Moira in? I’d like to reassure her.”

  Virginia ducked out into the square, taking the evidence with her. Kalpana looked at Beatrice.

  “Thank God for Beatrice Stubbs. I wasn’t sure you’d got it.”

  Beatrice shook her head. “I didn’t for a moment. I’m still shocked he came after you.”

  “It seems I was his ultimate target. The rest of them? Just him exercising his frustrations, apparently. So in his dysfunctional logic, it’s all my fault those other woman suffered unwanted attention.”

  Beatrice blinked, trying to imagine being in Bennett’s mind. It must be rather like a William Burroughs’ novel.

  “Had you never noticed his foot odour before?”

  Kalpana shook her head with emphasis. “He wears a uniform at work and I’m strict about presentation. I assume it was those revolting trainers. And you know what? He was the one who complained about Paul Avery’s breath.”

  Virginia returned with Grant and an older woman in a quilted dressing-gown.

  “Oh God, Kalpana, I’m so glad to see you! I was worried out of my mind, the police arriving in the small hours and demanding your key, I just couldn’t imagine, Scaramanga’s hidden under my bed, I had no idea what was going on and they wouldn’t let me come round at first ...”

  While Moira was speaking, Grant reached behind the armchair and retrieved Bennett’s backpack. His face, on seeing the contents, attracted Virginia’s attention. She glanced into the bag and Beatrice saw her eyes darken.

  The charge in atmosphere caused Kalpana to look up. Her eyes flicked from one to the other and back to the bag.

  “What was it? What did he have in there? Tell me, I want to know what he was planning ...”

  Virginia interrupted, taking hold of the backpack. “No, you don’t, Kalpana. Not now. Trust me.” She motioned to Grant and they left the room, taking the backpack.

  Kalpana covered her eyes with her hand.

  “How about a nice cup of tea?” Moira sat beside her and patted her knee.

  Beatrice stood. “We need to get back and start processing Bennett. Do you think you’ll feel up to making a statement tomorrow?”

  With a bitter exhalation, Kalpana looked up. “You try and stop me.”

  Chapter 37

  His ankle was the worst. His jaw still throbbed, his shoulders were stiff and aching from sitting so long with his hands tied behind him and he was colder than he could ever remember being. The initial vomiting caused by the constant heaving of the boat had dissipated, but it left him weak and shaky. But the pain in Adrian’s wrenched ankle was searing. Exhaustion swept over him several times and he almost dozed once or twice, especially after Ponytail Man – Eoin – had draped a blanket over his shoulders. He knew how to pronounce it now. ‘Owen’, as in Clive. And the other one was called Sammy.

  He’d learnt their names from the furious whispered conversation they’d had behind the Porthgain quarry hoppers.

  After dragging him out of sight, they searched his bag, finding the photographs, the camera, Adrian’s notebook and horribly, the key to the B&B. Surely they wouldn’t go after Matthew? But the key didn’t seem to interest them. What really caught their attention were the pictures on the Pentax. The beach, the packages, Marie’s vehicle in the cul-de-sac. Sammy stood over him, demanding to know who he was. Adrian wondered why they hadn’t checked his jeans. They would have discovered not only his wallet, containing ID, but also his mobile phone. That was when Sammy hit him.

  The shock of the blow totally disorientated Adrian and the taste of blood made him nauseous. Sammy grabbed his jumper and hauled his face close.

  “I’ll ask you again. Who the fuck are you?”

  He had to lie, but was hopeless at making things up under pressure. He fell back on the only pre-fabricated story he had.

  “Andrew Ramos. I’m a private investigator. I was asked to watch this beach for signs of illegal activity and report back with whatever I found.”

  “Who asked you?” Sammy kicked out at him. His hard boot connected with Adrian’s thigh. Pain radiated through his body and he squeezed his eyes shut for a couple of seconds.

  When he opened them, Sammy was waiting.

  Eoin, whose face was in darkness, made a small sound of exasperation. “Sammy, would you ever stop with the fists and the feet? Let the man talk.”

  Adrian breathed for a second, until the pain lessened. “Professor Michael Bryant. He and his wife stayed here on the Bank Holiday weekend. After his wife’s bag was stolen and their cottage burgled, he suspected something dubious was behind it. He asked me to check. So here I am.”

  The silence stretched out. Sammy staring at Adrian, Eoin staring at Sammy.

  Finally, Eoin spoke. “What did I tell you? What did I say? Trying to get the fecking photographs back is what’s caused the problem. Not the pictures. Jesus, Sammy, this is what your paranoia’s done.”

  Sammy stared into the darkness at Eoin, until the sounds of customers leaving the pub carried up to them. Sammy shook his head, like a dog with a flea,
and reached into his jeans pocket. He pulled out a mobile and opened the flap. The pale blue glow highlighted his sour expression.

  Eoin’s voice, low and nervous, came out of the dark. “Who’re you calling?”

  “We have to make a decision. What do we do with yer man?” Sammy pointed the phone towards Adrian like a weapon.

  “Call Marie. She’d get here in a couple of hours.”

  “Fuck that. I want to talk to someone with sense. I’m calling the Mammy.”

  Eoin exhaled through his teeth. Sammy pressed some buttons and paced away up the slope. For a few seconds, Adrian felt eyes on him. Whichever way you looked at it, he was a massive inconvenience to these men. This quiet observation from the shadows was an assessment. What exactly to do with him? Adrian heard footsteps move away in the direction of Sammy’s murmurs. If they found his wallet, he was lost. Name, address, not to mention sexuality stated on various membership cards, none of which matched what he’d told them. All he could do was to leave it here in these industrial ruins, hoping it would not expose Beatrice. And it was a long shot, but someone might find it and raise the alarm. He wriggled and winkled the flat leather packet from his back pocket, leant forward and threw it as far as his roped wrists allowed. All he had now was his mobile, switched to silent since the text message to Beatrice. His head fell back against the brick wall. He’d screwed everything up.

  Sorry, Beatrice. Sorry, Matthew. Sorry, Lyndon.

  Whatever ‘the Mammy’ said provoked Sammy into an even greater rage. He dragged Adrian to his feet and searched him as roughly as possible. He found the phone in seconds, threw it to the ground with an unintelligible curse and smashed it with his boot. Once the village was quiet, Eoin guided him down to the harbour, Sammy striding ahead. The difficulty of getting Adrian on board the small boat seemed to push Sammy over the edge. He swore, this time in English, and hauled him from the jetty like a sack of coal. Adrian’s thighs whacked onto the side of the boat and he was still gasping with pain when Sammy shoved him hard down the steps to the cabin. His foot caught and he fell heavily on his side, wrenching his ankle and winding himself. That was when he passed out.