No Time To Cry

by James Oswald

  ‘And how exactly does that help? He’s hardly going to talk to us. Suddenly switch sides and dump the man who pays him.’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not. Depends how quickly he thinks the ship is sinking. I wasn’t going to speak to him anyway. I’ll get a friend to do that for me. Someone Blondie will more likely listen to. If we can use that to distract him, it’s a start.’

  ‘Why do we need to distract him?’ Izzy scratches at her head, then shakes it. ‘No, stupid question. What are we actually going to do? It’s been twenty minutes now and you need to phone that bastard back before he decides he doesn’t need your brother after all.’

  ‘He won’t hurt Ben. Not unless he really has to.’ I say the words as much to convince myself as Izzy. I need to be right about this. It’s true though. I remember the tone of Roger DeVilliers’ voice when he thought he was talking to Charlotte rather than me. He’s a heartless bastard who gets off on raping kids, but he loves his daughter – his true daughter. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt her, and killing Ben would certainly do that. He’s just a distraction. I hope.

  ‘How can you be sure? You know what they did to Steve, what they did to me. He’s got all the cards. We’ve got nothing.’

  ‘That’s what he wants us to think, but it’s not true. We’ve got him on the ropes.’

  ‘How do figure that, Con? He’s got your brother and he’s threatening to cut his throat open.’ Izzy stares at me with disbelieving eyes.

  ‘He wants the photographs and video destroyed. I know that’s just common sense, given his position, but there’s more to it than that. You should have heard him. The moment I mentioned the possibility of vein pattern matching, he snapped. Before that he was being his usual obnoxious self, but he was in control of the situation. He didn’t think we could prove he was involved.’

  ‘But I was there. It happened to me. I just need to tell people and—’

  ‘And he’ll have you sectioned, locked up in an asylum, disappeared. He’ll destroy your credibility before you’ve even opened your mouth. Hell, he’s probably been doing that for months already. Years, maybe. But you’re missing the point, Izzy.’

  ‘I am?’

  ‘He knows that identifiable parts of him appear in the photographs. He knows that we can prove to a jury beyond any doubt that he . . . did what he did to you, and those other poor souls.’ I try to keep my voice level, even as my mind reels at the thought of it. Bad enough what was done to the poor girl, but knowing the identity of the man responsible makes it hard to hold her gaze and not break down in tears.

  ‘It doesn’t help though. Even if we can prove he’s guilty, he’s still got Ben. And you’ve got five minutes to phone him back and tell him we’re coming in.’

  ‘But we’re not coming in. You’re not going back to him and I’m not going to jail. We’ve enough to make him come to us. He’ll do that now he knows we can identify him.’ I wish I had my own phone, with all my contacts on it, but it’s easy enough to find the number I need from a quick web search. I pause a moment before dialling it, thinking what I need to say. It’s all about timing now, and time’s running out.

  ‘The important thing is to take back as much control as we can. That and to start trying to divide them. We need every bit of help we can get.’ I hit the dial icon. ‘Fortunately I know someone who might just fit the bill.’

  46

  I’m not sure I’m ready for this. It’s still too soon since Pete’s death, the memories too raw. One thing to see it on a phone screen, quite another to be here in person. I can’t think of anywhere else to go though, not with the impossible lack of notice, not where I have the advantage. And I need to draw the right kind of attention to myself too. I don’t like that there are so many variables, so many things to go wrong, but surely it’s about time my luck turned? And anyway, this is where it all began; there’s a pleasing symmetry about it all ending here too.

  ‘What is this place?’ Izzy asks as I lead her through the back alley to the door. She’s remarkably calm, given how nervous I’m feeling. But then I guess she doesn’t know what happened here. Nor does she know just how much I’ve bet on the set-up here being largely untouched since I was last in this building.

  ‘We set this up as a fake office. Undercover cop work.’ I pause before tapping Pete’s code into the keypad; they’ll have surely cancelled mine by now. It’s only when the lock clicks open that I realise I’ve been holding my breath.

  ‘Undercover?’ Izzy’s tone reminds me that for all the harsh life experiences she’s had, she’s still only a teenager. ‘Cool.’

  ‘Yeah, well.’ I lead her up the stairs, but instead of going into the front room, where I found Pete’s body, I key the code into what looks like a locked store cupboard and pull open the door. Behind it is a much larger room, lined with surveillance screens, wires trailing into server boxes in a rack on one wall. I’m relieved to see led lights flickering even though the screens are blank.

  ‘Wow. What is this place?’

  ‘This, dear sister, is the nerve centre.’ I pull out one of the two office chairs that have been shoved under a long counter, reach for the nearest keyboard and bring everything to life. If I’m lucky, things will start pinging in the station soon.

  ‘How good are you with computers?’

  Izzy looks at me as if all her Christmases have come at once. She pulls out the other chair and drops down into it, flexes her fingers and reaches for a mouse. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘First off, bring up your secure folder with all the video footage and photos on it. Give it a new name and copy it to the Met storage. I’m guessing that’s the last place they’ll look for it.’

  ‘Sneaky. I like your style.’ Izzy works her way through the various screens and menus as if she’s been doing this all her life. I could do it myself, but having her preoccupied works to my advantage. I use the second workstation to review the surveillance on the building. This is the first time I’ve managed to look over anything since Pete died, and I’m not surprised to find that all of the recordings have been erased. Clicking back through the date-stamped folders, there’s nothing to see at all. It’s possible everything’s been removed to another file store somewhere, but I somehow doubt it.

  ‘What are you looking for?’ Izzy asks. I can understand her eagerness to help.

  ‘I need to make sure all these cameras are recording, all the microphone feeds too. Especially in the front room there.’ I point at the window on the main screen showing a view of the office where Pete died. Where Gordon Bailey shot him between the eyes. ‘It needs to record to the drive here locally, but it also needs to go here.’ I switch on Charlotte’s phone and bring up the text Veronica sent me. By now, Bailey will know we’re here and fiddling with the equipment. I’ve no doubt he’s got a plan to delete anything recorded today, just like he deleted everything around the time he shot Pete. I’m hoping he’s not clued up enough to realise there’s a second copy out in the wild where he can’t reach it.

  ‘Done.’ Izzy’s fingers finish tapping at the keys and she looks up at me expectantly. ‘What next?’

  ‘DeVilliers will be here soon. He should be bringing Ben with him.’ I shove my hand in my pocket and bring out the Taser I stole from Tommy the silent bodyguard, place it down on the desk beside Charlotte’s phone. I hope she doesn’t think I’m completely insane. ‘So. Here’s the plan.’

  There’s nothing to do but wait now. I pace the room, close to the window overlooking the street outside, and try not to look at the chair where Pete met his end. I can still see him in my mind, the look on his face as he stared sightless into nothing. That tiny red dot in the middle of his forehead and the larger spray on the wall behind him. Someone’s had a go at cleaning that up, but not very successfully.

  ‘If it’s any consolation, it didn’t hurt. Was kind of a relief after what they’d already done to me anyway.’
>
  He’s there, but he’s not there. It’s daylight outside, coming up on noon. There’s no sun as such, too much cloud and the threat of rain, but that just means there are no shadows in this room even without the lights switched on. Pete can’t hide from me in the darkness.

  ‘You’re just my mind playing tricks on me. You know that?’

  ‘And here’s me thought we were friends. I’m here because you need me to be, Con. I’m here to help.’

  ‘That’s . . . reassuring.’ I still can’t look at the chair, concentrate instead on staring out of the window and up the street.

  ‘They’ll be here. Don’t you worry about that.’

  ‘It’s who else they bring that worries me, Pete. And who gets here first.’

  I pace the room a couple more times while he says nothing. Is this what it’s come to? So wound up by stress I’m talking to myself, imagining the ghost of my dead boss is going to help me out?

  ‘Sometimes you’ve just got to go with your instincts, Con. Even after all they drummed into you at training college, all the procedure and logic. Sometimes it’s for nothing and you know it.’

  ‘So, what? You’re in control of the traffic lights between here and wherever DeVilliers is coming from? You’re timing his approach through some eldritch means I can’t even hope to understand?’

  More silence, underlined by the ever-present roar of the city. On balance, I think I preferred it at Newmore. I go back to the door, open it and look out onto the reception area at the top of the stairs. Two desks, computers, chairs, filing cabinets full of random paperwork. We spent months setting this place up.

  ‘If it means anything, I wanted to tell you what we were really up to.’

  Marvellous. Pete’s ghost has followed me out here now. ‘What are you trying to tell me, Pete?’

  ‘Operation Undertaker. Hah, there’s a joke that’s not so funny in the telling. If it had been up to me, I’d have told you from the start it was all a ruse meant to flush out Bailey. Except we didn’t know it was him, of course.’

  I don’t need this shit. I should be in the office, waiting for DeVilliers. Doing all I can to save my brother. I leave reception and go back into the office, shaking my head even though there’s no one here to see me. ‘Why didn’t you, then?’

  ‘Not my call. Bain was in charge, and he said the fewer people who knew the better. He had a point. Just a pity one of those people had to be Bailey.’

  I stare out of the window as a car slows down, looking for somewhere to park. I’ve been over this all before. Even so, I can’t quite suppress the shaking in my hands, the horrible churning anxiety in my gut. Bailey’s a detective super and he’s been doing this for years. How the fuck am I supposed to go up against that? Christ, how many people are in his pocket? How many can he drum up to come and get me. Come and get Izzy?

  ‘It’s too late for him, Con. The cat’s out of the bag now. One way or another the truth will out.’

  Not exactly reassuring. One way could be Bailey going to jail, another me ending up with a bullet in my brain. I turn to face the empty chair, ready to tell Pete how reassuring his words aren’t right now. It’s empty, of course. It always was empty. Pete’s dead, and Izzy’s probably been watching me for the past fifteen minutes wondering whether I’ve completely lost my mind.

  Maybe I have.

  A car door thunks shut outside. It’s no different from any other noise, and yet it drags my attention away from the chair and back to the window. I stand far enough away not to be seen from outside and peer down at the street. Detective Constable Dan Penny has a nice shiny bruiser from where I smacked him in the face a couple of days ago – I can take a certain amount of pleasure in seeing that. It’s scant consolation as I see Bailey climb out of the car though. He’s canny, I’ll give him that much, but even he can’t help glancing first up the street and then down it. I track his gaze each way, and it’s not hard to see the backup he’s checking is in place.

  47

  I’m at the intercom waiting for them. ‘First floor. But then you know that already. It’s not locked.’

  I go back to the office, leaving the door open for them. Two sets of feet clump up the stairs. It takes them a while to cross the reception area outside, giving me plenty of time to arrange myself close to the window opposite the door.

  ‘Have you any idea how much trouble you’re in, Fairchild?’

  As warm welcomes go, it’s a bit lacking, but then I’ve come to expect no more from my boss. My ex-boss, I should say. Detective Superintendent Gordon Bailey looks ill, his eyes deep-set as if he’s not had much sleep in the week or so since I last saw him. His hair’s greyer than I remember too, what little is left of it.

  ‘Trouble, Gordon?’ I give him my best innocent-girl smile. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Cut the crap. You were already under investigation for DI Copperthwaite’s death.’ Bailey gives the empty chair behind the desk a nervous glance. ‘You should have been sitting at home waiting for Professional Standards to finish their investigation into that, but no, you had to go sticking your nose into other people’s business. You’re implicated in an RTA that left two people dead and you assaulted a fellow officer just a couple of days ago. Anyone would think you had a death wish or something.’

  ‘Death wish? An interesting choice of words, coming from the man who put a contract out on me. The man who actually murdered Pete.’

  ‘Oh come on. I’m a detective superintendent in the Met, not some cheap hoodlum.’ Bailey is swift in his response, but not swift enough. I can see how hard he’s working to suppress his startled expression, hear the edge of panic in his voice.

  ‘And you, Dan. Quite handy with a baseball bat. I have to assume there’s a fat wad of cash in it for you.’ I turn my attention to Penny, who has been trying to edge surreptitiously around the room to a point where he might be able to launch himself at me in some kind of attack. Poor sod should have learned from his last experience, but at least he stops when he realises I’ve clocked him.

  ‘You really are quite paranoid, aren’t you, Fairchild?’ He nods his head towards Pete’s chair. ‘You actually think either of us had anything to do with that?’

  ‘Think?’ I shake my head, catching a glimpse of movement out of the window as I do. ‘No. It’s not about thinking or believing. It’s about knowing. Proof.’

  ‘Now I know you’re delusional.’ Bailey laughs. ‘There is no proof. How could there be?’

  ‘Oh, you mean the CCTV recordings you thought you had deleted?’ I wave my hand at the light fitting in the centre of the ceiling even as I take another glance out of the window. ‘You know as well as I do there are copies. I’ve seen the footage myself. Admit it, Gordon. That’s the real reason you came in person.’

  ‘Enough of this nonsense, Fairchild. Is this why you called us here? To make wild and spurious allegations? Are you hoping to throw us off the trail, because, if so, it won’t work. We know that the same gun used to kill Pete Copperthwaite was fired twice through your mattress. We know there was no break-in, so either you let the shooter in or you are the shooter. Given your behaviour over the past couple of weeks I’m inclined to believe the latter.’ Bailey folds his arms, leans back against the desk and gives me a smug look of satisfaction. I already knew about the ballistics is useful information, even if he’s spinning it to his advantage. More importantly though, I’ve just spotted what I’ve been waiting for out of the window.

  ‘You know why I called you here, Gordon. Otherwise you wouldn’t have come. This chat’s been nice, but really it’s just been about killing time.’

  Roger DeVilliers’ black stretch Bentley sweeps up the road and parks on a double-yellow line right outside the office. Adrian climbs out of the driver’s side, then opens the passenger door for his boss. I hope that means Tommy’s still incapacitated, but it’s possible – likely even – t
hat there are other operatives keeping an eye on the building.

  ‘Looks like we’ve got company.’

  I can almost hear Pete’s ghost chuckling as the door downstairs opens and footsteps thump up the stairs. Dan Penny’s at the office door before it swings open, and almost catches Adrian off guard. The close-protection specialist is too good for that though, turning the detective constable’s attack against him. In a matter of seconds, Penny’s on the floor, his arms behind his back and being pulled up so tight he screams like a little girl.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ Adrian loosens off the strain, pushing Penny aside with a foot as he stands slowly, scanning the room again. His gaze flits up to the ceiling rose too swiftly, almost as if he knows the camera is there. Then it comes to rest on me and he grins like a hyena.

  ‘She’s here, boss,’ he shouts to the reception area behind him. ‘The bent coppers too. Thought I saw some unmarked cars out in the street.’

  ‘Tommy not with you?’ I ask, pleased to see an angry scowl darken Adrian’s face.

  ‘Nearly broke his head open, you little bitch.’

  ‘Language, Adrian.’ Roger DeVilliers steps in through the door. He doesn’t seem to notice the two detectives, focusing solely on me. ‘Tommy’s in an induced coma in intensive care, thanks to you. A quite unprovoked attack that I’m sure will be added to the list of your other violent offences.’

  ‘Don’t make me laugh. He was going to torture Izzy, just like he tortured Steve Benson. That’s his speciality, isn’t it? Could probably teach Dan there a thing or two.’

  DeVilliers frowns, looks around as if only just noticing Penny and Bailey are here too. ‘Detective Superintendent. I assume Ms Fairchild came up with some far-fetched story to drag you down here.’

  ‘Yeah, I told him I knew who’d killed Pete Copperthwaite. Thing is, he knows already, but he’s worried I might have some evidence he didn’t destroy.’