by Jo Bannister
She shook her head. ‘She insists there’s nothing to talk about. That it was a mistake, and they won’t come back. It was a mistake, but they will come back and next time they’ll finish what they were paid to do.’
‘Which is?’
‘I don’t know! Maybe just put the frighteners on her. Maybe escort her to a meeting she wouldn’t go to by choice. Or maybe someone wants her dead. Right now, there’s no way of knowing.’
‘Will you talk to Dave?’
Hazel nodded. ‘I think I have to. Though I don’t know what he can do when the potential victim denies there’s a problem.’
‘I think you should too, if only to cover your own back. If something does happen to Miss Lim, he won’t be happy that there was a moment when you could have given him the heads-up and didn’t.’
‘I’m on duty tonight. I’ll catch him in the morning as he comes on shift. And you …’
‘What?’
‘Should talk to Frankie.’
SEVEN
Ash didn’t wait until morning. As soon as he’d read the boys their requisite chapter of Treasure Island, and fielded with his usual response Gilbert’s habitual protest that he shouldn’t have to go to bed at the same time as his younger brother, he tapped on Frankie’s door and asked if he could have a word with her downstairs.
Usually they dealt with the business of the household in Ash’s study. This time that didn’t seem appropriate. Ash would not have been comfortable sitting behind his desk while the woman he’d wronged stood in front of it. It wasn’t going to be a comfortable interview anyway, but at least they could conduct it in the neutral surroundings of the kitchen.
Ash set out his mother’s china – its second outing in a week – and poured the coffee as he heard Frankie on the stairs.
She accepted the leather chair which, a little formally, he offered. But she remained perched dead central, her elbows never touching the arms; self-contained, ready to deal with whatever was coming, but not willing to accept responsibility for something that was not her fault. She thought he was going to pay her in lieu of notice and ask her to pack.
She would be sorry to leave this odd, damaged, still somehow admirable household, partly because she would miss the Ashes and partly because she thought they would miss her. But if her employer had lost his trust in her, there was nothing to be gained by delaying her departure. She was confident of finding another position, possibly within days. She had skills that made her eminently employable. She wouldn’t look for a flat until she knew whether she would be living in with her next family; until then, a spell in a hotel would be a pleasant change.
She stopped the train of thought right there. There was nothing pleasant in any of this. She had been accused of unprofessional conduct by someone whose opinion she valued, and as a consequence she was going to have to say goodbye to two children of whom, despite their manifest shortcomings, she had become fond. There wasn’t an up-side.
She took the coffee but then put it aside untasted. ‘Have you decided what you want to do, Mr Ash?’
He lowered himself carefully onto the sofa opposite, Patience moving up obligingly to make room, and nodded. ‘Yes. I want us both to forget that, on very little evidence, I blamed you for what happened at the school and accused you of lying to me when you denied it. Since that seems rather a lot to ask, I’m going to hope you’ll accept my apology and consider forgiving me.’
If he thought she’d jump at the chance, he was disappointed. She considered for a moment. ‘Have you learned something more about the incident?’
‘I think so, yes. At least, Hazel has a theory that fits the known facts. If she’s right, it wasn’t the boys that those men were after, and it wasn’t you either. It was Elizabeth Lim.’
That wasn’t what Frankie was expecting. ‘The principal at the high school? Why on earth …?’ Then she understood. ‘Ah. Yes, I see. We all look alike to you.’
Ash squirmed. It was a low blow – if someone had been guilty of seeing no further than a skin-tone, it wasn’t Ash; and accusing kidnappers of parochialism was like claiming that Hitler had been unkind to his mother: even if true, it was a bit of an also-ran on the scale of vices. But he was in no position to protest. He might not have done Frankie that particular wrong, but he had done her others.
‘I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions, and I’m sorry I didn’t give you a fair hearing.’ His voice was low. ‘I know I’m neurotic when it comes to the boys: you know why. It’s not much of an excuse, but perhaps it’s an explanation. I thought I was in danger of losing them again, and I over-reacted. I really am sorry, Frankie. I’m sure that was hurtful, and I wish I’d handled the whole thing better.’
Frankie regarded him levelly. ‘Are you saying you’d like me to stay?’
‘Yes,’ said Ash quickly. ‘Of course I want you to stay. I’d be devastated to lose you over a misunderstanding that was entirely my fault. I wouldn’t be surprised if you felt it was the last straw, that you don’t need the complications that come with working for my family, but I very much hope you’ll give us another chance.’
Still she delayed answering him. ‘Tell me this, Mr Ash. If the same thing happened again, would you handle it differently?’
It was a reasonable question, and he gave it the thought it warranted. He bit his lip. ‘Frankie, in all honesty, I’m not sure I would. I’d still be terrified to think that my children had been in danger, and I’m horribly afraid I’d still strike out at the nearest target, however unfairly.’
Finally Frankie smiled. ‘Mr Ash, that is indeed an honest answer, and I thank you for it. Of course you were afraid; of course you wanted to take whatever steps you could to safeguard your sons. Nothing you did was unreasonable.’
‘I didn’t trust you.’
‘Until you had an alternative explanation, how could you? To trust me blindly, uncritically, might have left your sons open to another attack. I would never expect you, or any parent, to do that. Your children have to come first. I wouldn’t believe you if you said otherwise. I wouldn’t respect you if you did otherwise.’
Ash felt a flicker of hope under his breastbone. ‘Do you mean you’ll stay?’
‘Yes, Mr Ash. If that is what you want, I should be very happy to stay.’
Hazel’s interview with DI Gorman was less of a minefield, though she was conscious that the friendly relations between Meadowvale’s senior detective and one of its newer PCs was starting to raise eyebrows, not so much in the corridors of power as in the canteen. Colleagues who had only just forgiven her for being right about Chief Superintendent Fountain were starting to look at her askance again. They seemed to think she was a drama looking for somewhere to happen.
Hazel didn’t know how to persuade them otherwise, and wasn’t sure she cared enough to try. She had less and less patience with their hard feelings and petty jealousies. She did her job, and did it well; being liked was an optional extra. It wasn’t something that she’d ever struggled with before, but if it came to a choice between being popular and doing what she believed to be right, she had broad shoulders. She also had options. She hadn’t forgotten she’d been invited to apply for a CID posting in Cambridgeshire. There had been reasons for not following up the invitation immediately, but it was a door she’d left carefully ajar.
One reason she hadn’t jumped at the chance was DI Gorman. He wasn’t an outstanding policeman, not impressive in the way that Chief Superintendent Fountain had been; in any discussion of the great detectives, his was not a name that would have come up. It was likely that he would complete his career without once drawing himself to the attention of the public, the press or the chief constable. But in those years he would put in a lot of hours and do a lot of solid work, and never let anyone down through laziness or inattention to duty, and have his share of good days at the office. A lot of bad people would be brought to book thanks to his efforts, and a lot of vulnerable people would be safer because of him.
Hazel had great respect
for an ordinary decent man doing the best he could with the tools and talents he’d been given. If she was going into CID, she would like to work for Dave Gorman.
He heard her account without interrupting, partly out of the same kind of respect that she had for him, and partly because experience had taught him that Hazel Best could be wrong about all kinds of details and still right about the big picture. When she’d finished he reached for his phone. ‘I’ll talk to Miss Lim. See if she’s a bit more forthcoming when we make this official.’
But Hazel quickly realised, even from the one-sided conversation she heard, that there was a problem. After a minute Gorman put the phone down and leaned back in his chair. ‘She isn’t there.’
Hazel checked her watch. It was now five to nine. ‘She should be. Assembly’s at nine.’
‘She’s not coming in. She left a message on the answering machine. She said that a family crisis had forced her into resigning, effective immediately, and she was sorry for the inconvenience but the deputy principal could run the school pending a new appointment. Her secretary called her home but there was no reply, and she isn’t answering her mobile.’
Hazel frowned. ‘Elizabeth Lim never struck me as the sort of woman to leave loose ends behind.’
‘The people at the school are astonished,’ nodded Gorman. ‘She doesn’t take a day off without planning a month in advance. She doesn’t take a sick day unless it’s something life-threatening. This is not someone who takes her responsibilities lightly.’
‘What I told her – that those men were looking for her – that meant something to her. I saw it in her face. She denied it, but I didn’t imagine it. She wasn’t surprised.’
‘And now she’s gone to ground. You should have said something to me before you said something to her.’
Hazel gave an apologetic shrug. ‘It seemed more important to warn her to stay out of the playground. I told her to come and talk to you.’
Gorman scowled at his big hands folded on the desk in front of him. ‘Why would she? Nobody else does.’ He made an effort to collect his thoughts. ‘On the bright side, she’s doing the right things – staying away from places people would look for her, her home and her work. On the not so bright side, we won’t know if something has happened to her.’
‘Someone should check her home. She could still be there even if she isn’t answering the phone.’
There are few things so irksome as being reminded to do something you had every intention of doing anyway. ‘Gee,’ he growled, ‘I never would have thought of that. We’ll look for any signs of friends or family she might turn to in a crisis, too.’ The DI pushed himself away from the desk and stood up. ‘Are you coming?’
Hazel could have said, ‘I’ve just come off the night-shift, I’m going home to bed.’ She could have said, ‘I’m not a member of CID.’ She could even have said, ‘Should you clear it with Superintendent Maybourne first?’
What she actually said was, ‘Is the pope a Catholic?’
Elizabeth Lim had a service flat in a mansion block overlooking the park, and that made it easier. Advised that one of his residents might be in trouble, the manager conducted the police officers upstairs. He rang Miss Lim’s bell, rapped with his knuckles and called her name. Still receiving no answer, he opened the door.
Hazel hadn’t been quite sure what to expect. Signs of a struggle in the hallway, a corpse in the kitchen, bullet holes in the bed? At the very least, indications that Miss Lim had left hurriedly. But no. The flat was as neat and composed as its occupant.
A quick initial search established that she’d taken her handbag and possibly two suitcases – the smallest of what was probably a set of three sat forlorn and alone in the bottom of a wardrobe. She had taken toothbrush and cosmetics from the bathroom.
Since Gorman had never heard of a kidnapper waiting while his victim filled a wash-bag, he was now confident that she had left to avoid a pursuer rather than in the grip of one. He stood in the living room, his gaze circulating like the beam of a lighthouse. ‘So where has she gone? Who does she think can protect her?’
‘She has friends in Norbold,’ said Hazel. ‘But she won’t have gone to any of them. If she thought she was in so much danger she had to leave her home and her job, she’ll have left town altogether. Too easy for her to be found in Norbold; too easy to bring trouble to someone’s door.’
‘The same applies to whatever family she has. Unless they’re in China.’
‘Was she born in China?’
Gorman didn’t know. ‘I’ll find out. You look for any papers – old letters, address book, anything like that. Even if she hasn’t gone to family members, she may be in contact with them.’
There was a red lacquered bureau beside the living-room window. Hazel made a methodical search of the three drawers and multiple small pigeonholes. She found nothing helpful, and very little that was personal. After several minutes, looking round in exasperation she realised why. Though the rest of the flat was spotless, the grate was full of ashes. Miss Lim had spent time she could ill afford burning papers. It took no leap of imagination to suppose they included anything that might indicate where she had gone.
Hazel broke the news to DI Gorman. He nodded grimly and put his phone back in his pocket. ‘That fits.’
Hazel frowned. ‘With what?’
‘That was Presley on the phone.’ Presley was his detective sergeant. ‘He’s been trying to get some background on Lim – where she was born, where she went to school, who and where her family are.’
‘And she doesn’t have any family?’
‘It’s better than that. She doesn’t exist at all, and never has. I don’t know who’s been running Norbold Quays High School for the last five years, but it wasn’t the person on the paperwork she provided to the school governors.’
Hazel stared at him, dumbfounded. It wasn’t so much that the answer was unexpected, more that it was the answer to a question she had never thought to ask. She’d assumed the problem was going to be identifying the men in the van, not the woman they’d meant to abduct.
Finally she found her voice. ‘You mean she’s a phony? She isn’t really a teacher?’
‘Oh, she’s a teacher all right. She attended university and qualified twelve years ago, and she has an unbroken and unblemished record of employment since then. But there’s no paper trail for her before university. No evidence of Elizabeth Lim being at school; no evidence of Elizabeth Lim being born, even.’
‘Maybe she was an overseas student,’ hazarded Hazel. ‘Maybe the paperwork got lost.’
They eyed one another in silence. At length Hazel sighed. ‘No, I don’t believe it either. What then? She changed her name?’
‘You can call yourself anything you want, but there are various points in your life when you have to prove who you are. Going to university is one. Getting a job as a head teacher is another. You can’t just cut yourself adrift from your history. At least, if you don’t want it catching up with you, you’re going to need help. Lim had papers that stood up to official scrutiny. She didn’t draw them up on a home computer – they were a professional job.’
Hazel was counting backwards. ‘So, around sixteen years ago, someone with specialist skills created a new identity for her and provided her with documents that would get her into university, get her on the electoral roll, get her a passport. Who? And why?’
EIGHT
‘Witness protection programme,’ said Gabriel Ash.
Watching him as he tidied the long table, returning books to their shelves before he shut the shop, Hazel’s expression was scathing. ‘That was the first thing we thought of. Dave Gorman put through a request for confirmation. It came back negative.’
‘The National Crime Agency has been known to lie.’
‘What would be the point? If Protected Persons have disappeared a witness, they might lie to protect her cover. But once her cover’s blown, they need us to know. The blue touch-paper’s already alight, and we’re th
e nearest fire-fighters.’
Ash conceded the logic of that. ‘Perhaps she disappeared herself.’
Hazel was unconvinced. ‘It was a damn good cover story. The school governors looked into her background before offering her Norbold Quays. Her paperwork wasn’t put together by an amateur, not even one who was really keen to get the job.’
‘What’s the alternative?’
‘That it was your people. And that, for reasons best known to themselves, they kept the NCA in the dark.’
For a long moment Ash didn’t answer. He adjusted some spines that didn’t need adjusting and blew the dust off a leather binding that wasn’t dusty. Then he turned slowly and met her gaze. ‘You mean national security.’
Hazel nodded.
‘They aren’t my people.’
‘They used to be your people.’
‘That’s a long time ago. And it wasn’t what you think. I worked in an office. I read reports. I was … a clerk.’
That was disingenuous, and they both knew it. Hazel let the arch of her eyebrow mark the fact. ‘You still have contacts there. Philip … Thing.’
Philip Welbeck had headed the department in the anonymous offices behind Whitehall when Ash went there ten years ago, and when he was invalided out five years ago, and he still did.
‘You want me to make enquiries?’
Again, Hazel nodded.
Ash bit his lip. ‘No. I’m sorry, but no. I don’t want to keep reminding Philip that I’m still around. I owe him a lot of favours, and I really don’t want to have to repay them.’
He might have added, And I don’t want to remind him that you’re still around either; but he didn’t. He didn’t think it would have occurred to Hazel that Philip Welbeck might have an interest in her. But he’d known Welbeck for ten years, and he was pretty sure that if it hadn’t occurred to him yet that Hazel Best would be an excellent recruit, sooner or later it would.
‘Elizabeth Lim is in trouble,’ Hazel said reproachfully. ‘Someone tried to kidnap her. All right, they blew it, but whatever made them try once will make them try again. She knows that. It’s why she packed what she could carry and walked out on a job she loved in a town where she was respected.