Thirty-one
Ella Bloom’s engagement party was at the So Bar, not far from The Green. It was a trendy place with white leather seating and atmospheric lighting and it served great cocktails.
Togged up in a backless short dress to show off her expensive spray-tan, and wearing heels for a change, Scarlett entered the heaving, noisy, bar, and threaded her way through a throng of overly loud revellers, seeking out Ella. It didn’t take long to clock her. She was among a group of friends by the bar, swaying gently to the music. A petite size 10, with boyish hips, Ella was sporting a black clinging mini dress with black and gold heel ankle boots. The joyful smile she was casting around said everything about her mood.
Scarlett joined them and Ella greeted her with a cheek-kiss.
‘Great you could come,’ she said, talking above the music. ‘I think you know everyone.’
Scarlett glanced around the group. She did. Most of them were cops. Three that weren’t, she had met before on previous nights out. She acknowledged them all with a nod and a hi, and then pointing to the pink cocktails they were all holding she said, ‘What’s that you’re drinking?’
Ella held up her half-empty glass, ‘Don’t know but it’s lovely. We told the barman it was my engagement do and he made us this special cocktail. Try it.’
As she held out the glass for her to take a sip Scarlett spotted Ella’s ring. It was a large square diamond set in white gold. She took hold of Ella’s finger and eyed it closely. It dazzled under the lights. It must have cost Ryan a packet. ‘That’s gorgeous,’ she said letting go of Ella’s hand.
‘It is, isn’t it? Ryan’s mum helped choose it. I love it.’
Scarlett tried Ella’s cocktail. A strong taste of raspberry hit the back of her throat which was refreshing, and then came the after-kick of what she thought was vodka. ‘Gosh that’s strong. Bad head tomorrow,’ she laughed. Catching the barman’s attention, she ordered the same.
As all seats and tables had been taken, the group hugged one end of the bar, ordering more cocktails, chinking glasses, toasting Ella’s engagement. Scarlett caught up with a couple of the crew from her early uniform days; she hadn’t seen them since their last big get-together six months ago. Everyone was in high spirits. They gossiped, mainly about men. One of the girls had a new neighbour. ‘He’s really hot,’ she told the group, ‘A fitness instructor – I’ve asked for some personal training.’ They howled with laughter and continued the wicked gossip. Then, half an hour in, a table became available and they made a bee-line for it, claiming it a split-second before another bunch of party-goers, laughing as they plonked themselves down.
Ella draped an arm around Scarlett’s shoulder. She was with Michelle Finch, a detective sergeant from Brixton. Scarlett had met Michelle a few times and knew that she and Ella were very close, having joined together. Michelle had introduced Ella to Ryan.
‘I was just telling Michelle about the shit you have to take from TB.’ Ella was slurring.
Michelle said, ‘You don’t have to take it from him. Not in this day and age. I’d report him, the sexist twat. Get him moved.’
Michelle’s gravelly voice always reminded her of Mariella Frostrup. Scarlett responded with a nervous laugh. She didn’t want this conversation to develop – not when she was out for a night of enjoyment. ‘Don’t worry. He’ll get his comeuppance. I’m saving something special for him.’
Michelle tapped her on the shoulder. ‘Good on yer. And if you ever need back up, count me in.’
Nodding and smiling, Scarlett finished off her cocktail, and setting down her empty glass she said loudly above the din, ‘Order me another Ella, I’m just going to the ladies.’ She pushed herself up, went a little woozy and had to grab hold of the table to steady herself. ‘Bloody hell Ella those cocktails are potent. Get me half of lager instead.’
‘Lager!’ exclaimed Ella. ‘You’ve no chance. It's shots and Jagerbomb time.' Scarlett left an explosion of laughter behind as she tottered to the ladies on unsteady heels.
After using the toilet she took several sips of water, checked herself in the mirror, replenished her lipstick, flicked a few errant strands of hair back into place and then taking several deep breaths stepped out into the corridor. She was just checking that the hem of her dress had not ridden up when she became conscious of someone blocking her way. All she saw at first was a pair of Fred Perry trainers and a pair of jeans, and her breath caught as she clocked who they belonged to. James Green. His piercing blue eyes bored right into her with a look that was icy, almost threatening. She sobered up immediately.
‘Hello Detective Macey. Fancy meeting you here.’
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’
‘Now that’s not a very nice greeting for someone who’s just having a quiet drink in town.’
‘No you’re fucking not! You’re following me!’
‘Now you’re being paranoid. Can’t a man have a drink in a bar?’
‘Not the one I’m in.’
‘That’s not being friendly.’
‘I’m not a friendly person towards someone like you.’
‘What do you mean, someone like me?’
‘Rapist.’
‘Now, now, that was never proved was it? That kind of talk is slander.’
James Green’s gaze trailed down her chest to below her waist. It was a slow and deliberate move and she could feel anger welling up inside. At the same time her stomach lurched and she felt sick. She launched herself at him, grabbing hold of his T-shirt and slamming him back against the wall. ‘You fuck off out of my face now, or I’ll fucking nick you.’
He looked stunned for a moment, then his expression altered, his pupils dilating so quickly that they were just beads of black. Staring. Fucking Freaky. And although she had him pinned against the wall the change unnerved her.
Knocking aside her hand, he straightened his T-shirt, locked eyes for a second and strolled away. ‘You’ve not heard the last of me Detective Macey,’ he called back as he made for the exit.
As Scarlett watched him leave she started to shake. ‘The gloves are off James Green. I’m bringing you down,’ she growled to herself. Then, trying her best to pull herself together, she headed back to the celebration.
Thirty-two
Scarlett spent most of the weekend recovering from the mother of all hangovers. She wrote Saturday off, lying on the sofa, feeling as if she was dying. On Sunday, she awoke feeling a little better, but still not back to her best, so she decided to go for a spin on her beloved Bonnie to blow away the cobwebs. She’d helped to restore the 1967 Triumph Bonneville T120 motorcycle with her dad when she was sixteen; he had brought it home as a wreck, and together they’d rebuilt it. He had taken her out on pillion for its first run and then taught her how to ride it. It became hers following his untimely death.
Scarlett only planned to take a short journey, but the urge to open up the bike for an adrenalin rush was too great and she ended up blasting down to Brighton and back. It did the trick in clearing her woolly head.
Sunday evening, still furious with James Green for hijacking her Friday night, she wrote in her work journal a summary of what had happened in the So Bar, determined to tackle it the next day. Once she told DI Taylor-Butler about Green's threat, he would have to back her up.
She planned to spend the remainder of her evening relaxing in front of the TV, catching up with a couple of programmes she had recorded, but after struggling through an episode of EastEnders, she turned it off, unable to get Green out of her mind. Sometimes Scarlett wished she could switch off her brain. The notion that he had another bolt-hole was bugging her and the only way it was going to go away was if she dealt with it there and then. So, booting up her laptop, she tested her theory by surfing the net. First port of call was Facebook, where she found seven James Greens in London, but none of the profile photos matched. Next, she Googled his name for an address check. There were 200 James Greens listed in the UK, with phone numbers, just 39 when the
field was narrowed down to the London area. Many had middle names, which she hadn’t given any thought to before and it made her realise this task was not going to be easy. As Scarlett hopped from one record to the next, a niggling doubt appeared – was James Green his real name? The DNA and fingerprints Green had given upon his arrest had been checked against the national database but there hadn’t been a match. All that meant was that he hadn’t been in custody before and wasn’t wanted for any criminal matter. It didn’t prove who he was.
Am I taking this too far?
With an exasperated sigh, Scarlett closed down her laptop and returned to the statements she’d borrowed from Green’s case file. As she doubled back through them, and married them against the recovered exhibits, she realised that the only thing they had to confirm his identity was a driving licence and a couple of household bills. The household bills proved zilch and she knew how easy it was to get hold of a forged driving licence. They hadn’t recovered any credit or debit cards, and when they had arrested him and brought him into custody, all he had on him was a little cash. This was going to require a lot more investigation, she thought as she bundled together the paperwork.
As Scarlett tucked the documents and photographs into her work bag, the sight of her mobile on the coffee table reminded her that she hadn’t yet rang Ella to thank her for Friday night, and tell her about her confrontation with James Green; she hadn’t mentioned it at the time because she hadn’t wanted to put a dampener on the evening’s fun. The call went to voicemail, and so texted her friend to thank her and tell her she’d been rough all through Saturday. She decided not to text anything about James Green, instead, she would tell Ella when she saw her at work.
Ella texted her back within a minute, ‘Can’t speak out with Ryan's family. Thanks I had a great time as well but the night was spoiled. We were broken into while we were out.’
Scarlett was taken aback. ‘OMG. So sorry to hear that. Much damage. Was anything taken.’
‘No thank God. Looks as if they were disturbed. Tell you about it tomorrow.’
For a moment Scarlett stared at her phone. James Green took solid form in her thoughts again. Was she stretching her imagination a little too far? It seemed too much of a coincidence that hours after bracing him up and he’d made his threat, Ella and Ryan’s flat had been burgled.
Thirty-three
On Monday morning, Scarlett awoke refreshed and fired up for the week ahead. The decks were clear at work and she was going to air Friday night’s episode involving Green and demand that something be done. It was going to wind up DI Taylor-Butler, but he could go take a running jump – he had dismissed her theory about her being stalked too easily and this second episode was more than enough proof. This time he hadn’t a leg to stand on.
Checking that the papers from Green’s case file were out of sight in her bag she set her house alarm, slammed the front door, rattling the handle to test it was locked, tucked her mane of red hair inside her helmet and mounted her motorcycle. Bonnie stuttered for a few seconds before erupting into a throaty roar as she throttled up. Then she rolled it out of her gate and onto the road and set off to the station. Unlike the previous day, she took a more leisurely ride into the office.
In the ladies, Scarlett peeled off her biking leathers, replaced her motorcycle boots with flat shoes and shook out her hair, running her fingers through it to remove the knots. Checking herself in the mirror, she did her best to palm out the creases in her slacks. Then, happy with her image, added a spot of lipstick and stepped out into the corridor.
As she entered the office, Scarlett held her bag close to her side, keeping the top firmly shut to hide Green’s case notes as she headed to her desk. The office was back to normal. Members of both syndicates were in and the place was full of its customary early morning chatter: George Martin was perched on the edge of Carl Jenkins’ desk being bullish with him and DC Shaun Fletcher. From a couple of the raucous comments she gathered the conversation was about football; George was a Gunner and the other two were Hammers fans. Beyond them, at Rachel Cooper’s desk, Ella was showing off her engagement ring; Rachel hadn’t been able to make the celebrations because of a family commitment. Scarlett was about to head over to ask Ella about her burglary when Tarn cut across her line of sight, heading back to his desk with a brew. He smiled as he set down his mug but it wasn’t his usual grin. It didn’t light up his face like it usually did. In fact, she thought he looked washed out. There were rings around his eyes and his shoulders sagged. Scarlett changed her mind about going to see Ella. As Tarn dropped down into his seat she leaned over and said softly, ‘Are you okay?’
He nodded back, but his face wasn’t convincing.
‘You don’t look it, Tarn.’
‘I’m fine, Scarlett.’
There was a sharp edge to his reply. ‘Tarn, I can read you like a book. We need to talk. As soon as morning briefing’s over you and I are going for a run out. I’m not taking no for an answer.’
Tight-lipped he mouthed, ‘Yeah okay,’ and then took a sip of his coffee.
‘Good. I’m just going across to have a word with Ella. Get me a coffee will you?’ Scarlett unlocked her drawers, placed her bag in the bottom one and was about to head across and speak to Ella when she spied a brown paper bag in her top tray. She studied it a second. It was sealed and labelled to Detective Macey. She said to Tarn, ‘What’s this?’
He shrugged. ‘It was sitting there when I came in. It’s probably from one of your many admirers.’ His face became mischievous, ‘TB, maybe.’
‘Yeah sure.’ Scarlett broke the seal and looked inside. Screwing up her face she said, ‘Fruit.’
‘Fruit?’
She tore one side of the bag and a couple of oranges tumbled onto her desk. ‘When I say fruit – lemons and oranges.’ She picked out a lemon and showed him.
‘Just lemons and oranges?’
She nodded.
‘That’s a strange combination. Oh well at least it’s a thought. Is there a note?’
She fished around among the fruit, but came out empty handed. ‘Nope. No note.’
‘Someone’s thinking of you that’s the main thing.’
She rolled across one of the oranges to Tarn and started to peel another. ‘Well never say I don’t share anything with you.’
Suddenly the office door crashed open and in strode DI Taylor-Butler.
Tarn hissed quietly, ‘Oh, oh, your favourite person Scarlett, and he doesn’t look too happy.’
‘DS Macey,’ the Detective Inspector called from the doorway.
Scarlett half-turned. His eyes were narrowed. If looks could kill, she thought.
‘My office now!’
‘What?’
‘You heard.’ With that he turned and left, crashing the door behind him.
All eyes were on Scarlett. Questioning. She shrugged her shoulders, threw up her hands in a ‘no idea’ gesture and made for the door. In the corridor, a twang of nerves caught her. Her stomach tightened. She wondered if he’d discovered the statements and photographs missing from the Green files. They were still in her bag in her bottom drawer. She mentally prepared an answer that wasn’t far from the truth.
Taylor-Butler was already behind his desk when she entered his office. As usual there was no seat on offer so she stood before him.
He met her inquiring gaze, ‘What the hell happened Friday night?’
For a second the question threw her. His face was red and looked about to burst. ‘With regards?’
‘James Green of course. Are you trying to be clever, or did you assault someone else while you were drunk?’
Her jaw dropped, flabbergasted he was talking to her in this manner, but she quickly recovered. ‘Me? Assault James Green?’
‘Are you saying you did not throw him against the wall and threaten him?’
She ran his question quickly around inside her head and answered, ‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Yes, I threatened to nick him, but that w
as because he was stalking me. I’ve already told you about the incident at the supermarket. I was out in Richmond with some friends, including Ella Bloom, on Friday night. We were in a bar and Green confronted me as I came out of the toilets.’
‘Confronted you?’
‘Yes, confronted me. So I challenged him and told him if he didn’t get out of my face I was going to nick him. I’ve put it all in my journal. I was going to raise it at morning briefing. I want him warning for harassment.’
The DI gave a dismissive half-laugh. ‘You want him warning for harassment?’
‘Yes. This is the second time now.’
‘His story is completely different.’
‘His story?’ Scarlett looked puzzled.
Taylor-Butler picked up some papers and shook them in her face. ‘This is James Green’s official complaint. He came in to see the Duty Inspector Sunday morning, alleging that he was drinking in town on Friday evening, he walked into the So Bar and you grabbed him by the T-shirt, threw him against the wall, banging his head, and then you started verbally abusing him and threatening him for no reason.’
‘Oh come on, you are kidding me. You believe that?’
‘Well it certainly looks like that from what I’ve seen.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The Inspector didn’t just take his word before formalising his complaint. He went to the bar and recovered the CCTV footage of the incident. I’ve seen it this morning and it doesn’t make for pleasant viewing. It quite clearly supports his allegation.’
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