by Matt Hilton
With Dad gone and Mam barely capable of looking after herself, they couldn’t keep the small farm that had been in Siobhan’s family for generations; their mortgagors snatched it from under them as adroitly as the Fell Man had snatched Sally from the castle grounds. By the time Kerry was fourteen she was totally out of her depth, living on a run down council estate in Carlisle’s west end, and going to “big school” alongside fifteen hundred other kids, some from even poorer families than hers. She could have easily fallen by the wayside, embraced the behaviour and culture of some of her peers and gone lawless. But Kerry went the other direction entirely. Latching onto Girl was an indicator of her obsessive nature, and so was her intention to become a police officer.
In the intervening years Sally had never been found, dead or alive. Neither had another six girls also believed to have become victims of the serial abductor — and probably killer — that the press had dubbed the Fell Man. Their nickname for the child snatcher hadn’t been as sinister as the local name they stole it from: they thought the Lakeland fells were evocative of his hunting grounds, and had a similar ring to it as the Moors Murderers on whose notoriety they could sell papers, but that wasn’t the true source. The hills or high moorland referred to as fells in northern England took their name from the Old Norse fjall and bore no relationship to the name of the Cumbrian bogeyman. Fell, in his case, was used literally in its archaic Middle English sense, depicting something of “terrible evil or ferocity”, and was related to the Old French word fel, the nominative of felon or wicked person.
The Fell Man was never identified, and obviously never caught, and it was assumed he either gave up his crimes, was imprisoned for unrelated offences, changed his modus operandi or he died. As other crimes shook the country, and the world in regard to 9/11, the unsolved abduction and killing spree was relegated to the cold files as the shape of modern policing changed to suit. But Kerry never let the case of her missing sister rest, although Girl visited less frequently than before, until finally Kerry barely noticed that she’d all but gone entirely. She joined Cumbria Constabulary, and was soon standing on full uniform parade at Hutton Police Training Centre near Preston, alongside other recruits from Greater Manchester and Lancashire Constabularies. There she told one of her tutors her reason for joining the police was to help those in need, and he’d contritely told her, ‘No, PC Darke. Your duty’s to uphold the Queen’s law.’ It was probably best that she hadn’t admitted she’d joined up with the sole purpose of catching and punishing the Fell Man. To what end? Another fell man had escaped justice after killing a child, and her career was in serious jeopardy. And all she could do was sit there in wet underwear, huddled under a damp towel, waiting for the axe to drop.
A telephone rang.
It startled her out of the past.
She’d made it to her living room. It smelled of spilled whisky and Adam. His blankets were tussled on the settee, and so were his discarded T-shirt and joggers. She couldn’t see her handbag containing her mobile, but thought she’d carried it up to the bathroom with her when Adam helped her upstairs. It was the landline that was ringing. Nobody she knew personally rang her landline, and for a second she feared that it was the press, attempting to get a quote from her they could twist out of proportion to suit their hysterical headlines. She was tempted to ignore it, but the phone kept ringing.
Pulling the towel around her, she padded to the kitchen where the phone was on a cradle on the wall. If it was a reporter calling, they could go to hell.
‘Hello,’ she said cagily.
‘Mornin’, boss.’
‘Danny,’ she responded. ‘What’re you doing calling me on my private phone?’
‘Well, seeing as you ain’t picked up on your mobile, or answered any of my texts, I thought you were maybe ignoring me. Tell you the truth, boss? I expected Adam to pick up, not you.’
‘Adam left early for work.’ She didn’t add that he’d left earlier than usual, to avoid a second argument when she finally dragged herself from the bathroom. ‘I was, uh, in the shower. I didn’t hear my mobile.’
‘Sorry if I dragged you outta the shower…’
Kerry was suddenly self-conscious. Speaking with Korba while semi-naked was almost tantamount to illicit behaviour, and she cringed at the images he might be formulating in his mind. Despite her landline being routed through a bog standard, technologically ancient press button phone, she rearranged the towel modestly.
‘No, I’ve been up a while now, just thinking of having some breakfast.’ Only the latter was a lie, so she carried it off. ‘I guess today’s going to be a long one and I’ll need the extra energy.’
‘Yeah. You ain’t blooming wrong, boss. Are the news cameras outside your house yet?’
‘I haven’t checked,’ Kerry said.
‘If they’re not there yet, it’s only a matter of time.’
‘Fucking vultures,’ she growled.
‘Yeah, they’re that, but this time they’re on your side, girl.’ Korba checked himself. ‘Uh, sorry, I mean boss.’
Kerry couldn’t give a shit about his lapse in formal etiquette. She was more intrigued by what he meant by the media being on her side. Last night when she’d finally left the council estate crowds had already gathered, shouting foul and making accusations of police brutality and excessive use of force, and if anything the presence of the news cameras had made them more vocal. She’d expected social unrest by this morning, even localized rioting. Her silence prompted Korba to fill the gap.
‘I take it Porter ain’t managed to contact you yet?’
‘No. Like I said, I was in the shower and didn’t hear my phone…’ She didn’t go on, because it had struck her that there was a faint hint of triumph in Korba’s question. ‘What has happened, Danny?’
‘Put it this way, ol’ Porter’s gonna have to eat humble pie ’cause of the way he handled this one.’
‘Jesus, Danny, will you just tell me what you’re going on about?’
‘The camera never lies, does it? Well, hear this.’ He chuckled to himself. ‘You’ve become an Internet sensation overnight, Kerry. Some kid videoed you tryin’ to arrest Swain on the rooftop and caught everything. How, despite Swain knockin’ seven bells out of you, you tried to stop him escapin’, and that bastard tried to chuck you off the roof. If he wasn’t tryin’ so hard to kill you, he wouldn’t have tripped over his own feet and fallen to his death. Poetic justice, eh? Some scummy kid tryin’ to make a few quid off monetizing his video on YouTube has exonerated you instead.’
Kerry recalled the boy with the smart phone she’d met on the landing. He must have followed her up to the roof and filmed her showdown with Swain, and took off before the first SC019 officer arrived. ‘It shows I didn’t force Swain off the roof?’
‘It shows exactly what happened. He was tryin’ his hardest to force you over the side, you had hold of his cuff and fell to the floor, and then he kind of…I dunno, he lost it and took a dive off the roof.’
‘What do you mean by lost it?’
‘Lost the plot, went ape shit. He was kicking and punching you, and god knows what else, then it was as if he lost his balance and took the long tumble. You’re bein’ hailed the right little hero, ain’t ya!’
‘I don’t feel like a hero.’
‘Ha! You will by the time you make Porter pucker up and kiss your arse…’ Again Korba checked himself. ‘Uh, figuratively speaking, boss.’
‘Of course,’ she said, and laughed. It was the first time she’d felt anything approaching genuine humour since before responding to Wandsworth Road the previous day.
‘So will you be in today?’ Korba ventured.
‘That’s down to DCI Porter.’
‘Don’t worry. I bet you he’ll be on the blower in no time. You should come in and beat him to it. Let him know how much of a prick he was last night. Flaming jobsworth, he should’ve known better than treat you like that.’
‘He was only following procedure, Danny.’<
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‘Kerry, we’re off the record, ain’t we? So you’re talking to me, your ol’ mate, Danny Boy. You don’t have to defend Porter when he made sure he chucked you under a bus to protect his own fat arse.’
‘Yeah, you’re probably right. But he had no option.’
‘Yeah. We both know the score, Kerry. But Porter didn’t have to make it so flaming obvious he thought you were guilty. If that kid wasn’t up late on a school night, things might’ve turned out dodgy for you, especially when your commanding officer was in your opposite corner.’
‘Huh,’ said Kerry, ‘you said I was being hailed as a hero, but I bet I’m not even flavour of the month with the DCI, right now.’
‘So what’s new there, eh? Anyhow, it might work in your favour. Maybe he’ll be keener to green light that transfer you requested to the Murder Squad.’
‘Detective Sergeant Korba,’ she mock-scolded. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to get rid of me.’
‘Not me, Kerry.’ She could almost picture Korba glancing around furtively, checking he wasn’t being overheard, which happened to be a bit too late now. ‘If you go, I’ll be puttin’ in a transfer request of my own. The job here just wouldn’t be the same without you.’
‘I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Danny,’ she said, genuinely touched by his sincerity.
‘Nah,’ he said, ‘what I meant was I wouldn’t get away with half the bollocks I do with a different boss.’
He hung up before she had chance to reply, and perhaps it was best. Kerry could feel warmth in her cheeks. And it was only partly due to being exonerated of killing Swain. Had Danny Korba just flirted with her?
She went to dress, anticipating a return to work sooner than had seemed possible less than a quarter hour earlier. But she couldn’t resist the pull of her computer. She logged on to a video-sharing site.
10
Detective Chief Inspector Charles Porter was a career copper. He was the type who always had an eye on the next rung up the ladder, and without any major stumbling blocks he was in line for promotion to Acting Superintendent of Gangs and Organised Crime, with a view to replacing the current Supt, Sandy Tinsley, when she shuffled off to the golf course or country club or wherever retired superintendents spent their golden years. Last night’s unfortunate event was a possible stumbling block in his career path, a treacherous one indeed if it was mismanaged. He’d taken positive action to control the Erick Swain situation, diverting damaging accusations of unlawful killing away from the Metropolitan Police Service and onto one maverick inspector who could take the heat on their behalf. His impromptu sound bite to the press was designed to pacify the populace, the media and his superiors, but now he regretted the sanctimonious tone he’d taken when condemning Kerry Darke to the metaphorical firing squad. He’d dropped her in the shit, but she’d come up smelling of…not roses, but sweet satisfaction at his expense, all the same.
A video of her violent struggle with Swain had surfaced within an hour of DCI Porter’s appearance on the news, and had gone viral on the social networks. Swain was the obvious aggressor, and his rage had looked blind when kicking and swiping at something that only partially included Darke, until he’d twisted away and lunged madly off the parapet to escape his imaginary attacker. The video’s content negated the poorly concealed indictment he’d aimed at Darke, and made him look a complete fool. He’d appeared again on the news this morning, refuting everything he’d insinuated the night before in a single garbled response to the quick-fire questions hurled at him from a pack of reporters gathered outside the nick. He had employed double-negatives, obfuscation, party-line political mumbo jumbo, and sycophantic praise of the “courageous action taken by a valued member of my team in attempting to apprehend a violent criminal suspected in the shooting of an innocent mother and child, and to protect a fallen colleague without concern for her own safety or well being”. It was quite a mouthful when he could barely work up the spit to unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth. Maybe he’d have been convincing if he’d been sincere in his praise and made an apology. He’d watched the news feed in his office later and even he didn’t believe a single word of it. It was time for damage control.
Seated opposite him in his office, DI Darke waited.
If she expected him to say sorry, she might be surprised.
‘Before we begin,’ Porter said, ‘I’d like to remind you that you can have another colleague present, or if you wish, a Police Federation representative.’
‘Will this be an official interview under caution?’ Kerry responded.
‘No. It’s not an interview. Think of this more as a debriefing.’
‘So I don’t want or need either.’
Porter’s feelings towards Kerry weren’t personal. But he could tell from the steady glare of her odd eyes, the way her mouth was pulled fractionally to one side, the feeling wasn’t mutual.
‘That’s fine then. I think it’s best we put the unfortunate events of yesterday behind us and both move on from this a little wiser.’ He sat back in his creaking leather chair, unbuttoning his jacket for freedom of movement. His shirt rucked up and his tie sat askew. ‘I’ve spoken to Superintendent Tinsley, and it’s our decision that your suspension is rescinded as of now and you can return to active duty.’
Kerry said nothing, but her mouth reset nearer the centre.
‘I trust you’re happy with our decision, Inspector Darke?’
‘How much of the decision-making process were you involved in?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Was it your decision to reinstate me or did you just follow orders, sir?’
‘I don’t see why my input into the decision should be questioned. If you’re asking if I’m genuinely happy that you’re back, then I won’t lie. I had my misgivings about your reinstatement until a full IPCC investigation and review of your actions had been completed, and your attitude now isn’t doing anything to help assuage them. You sound as if you’re displeased with the decision to allow you back so soon.’
Kerry shook her head. ‘I’m not displeased. I’m only sorry I’m in a position where I have to be reinstated.’
‘Well,’ said Porter, removing his spectacles and placing them on his desk. ‘If you expect an apology from me, it won’t be forthcoming. I followed procedure, you didn’t, Inspector Darke.’
‘I was chasing a violent offender who’d already injured four of my colleagues; following procedure wasn’t exactly the first thing on my mind.’ She snorted. ‘There wasn’t an opportunity to conduct a dynamic risk assessment.’
‘You were chasing a violent offender who you’d allowed to escape through your mishandling of his arrest,’ Porter reminded her. ‘Look, let’s dispense with formality, Kerry. Before you get defensive, I’ll remind you that I was a beat officer before I was a supervisor. I know how things are in the real world. The best plans and strategies work only until a third party refuses to play by the same rules. I’ve been there when things have kicked off, and what should’ve been a simple arrest degenerated into a full-on brawl. If I was the senior investigating officer conducting Swain’s arrest, I can’t swear that I’d have done anything different than you did. But that’s beside the point. I’d expect to be criticised after everything went to pot. Kerry, a man died during a police pursuit, and unfortunately, as SIO, the buck had to stop with you.’
‘As the senior investigating officer, if I’d been given an opportunity to give you a full report of the incident first, you might have handled the press more candidly.’ Kerry stared at him again.
Porter retrieved his glasses, and fumbled them on. ‘I handled the press the best way I saw fit under the circumstances.’
‘By throwing me to the wolves?’
‘It had to be done; we were facing growing civil unrest. Despite the fact Swain was hated, some of those living on that estate hate us more. They were looking for a reason to kick off, so I took it away from them.’
; ‘You made them hate me more than they hated the police service? Wow! At least you haven’t tried sugar-coating things.’
‘You should know me by now, Kerry. I say it as it is, and I tell the truth. I place high value on personal integrity, in me and in those serving under me.’
‘It’s just a shame you don’t place a similar value on loyalty.’
DCI Porter leaned on his elbows, his face looming across the desk like a flushed moon. ‘Steady on, Inspector. I offered to dispense with formality, but that isn’t to say I’ll tolerate insubordination. Don’t make me regret agreeing to having you back…I could soon turn things round again.’
Kerry raised both hands. ‘I’m sorry, sir. But you must imagine how I felt being hung out to dry like that?’
He grunted, sat back again and undid another button. ‘I’m sure you’re professional enough to get over it, Kerry. And I don’t expect it to have a detrimental effect on your results, either. You have active cases on-going and I’d like updates on where you are with them all before the end of shift.’
He’d said his piece, and allowed Kerry hers, even if he’d largely brushed off her opinion. Now he was dismissing her. Kerry didn’t take the hint.
‘Was there something else?’ he asked.
Kerry wormed uncomfortably on her chair. Then coming to a conclusion she met his stare. ‘Sir, I get the feeling that you don’t like me.’
‘I don’t think we need get personal,’ he said.
‘OK. But that means you don’t respect me, or value me as a member of your team. I’ve a suggestion that could solve the problem. I’d like you to reconsider my transfer request to Homicide and Major Crimes.’
‘I don’t need to like you to recognise your abilities as an investigator,’ he countered. ‘Despite what you think of me, I do appreciate what you bring to my team. But—’ he held up one finger ‘—as your supervisor I’m bound to hear your request. Put it in an email to me and I’ll consider it.’