Afterwards, they lay on the bed and relaxed. Genevieve never hurried her clients, knowing that this distinguished her from the average tart who begrudged every wasted moment.
She broke the silence. ‘Do you remember the last time you were here?’
He didn’t bother to answer.
‘You’d no sooner gone than the detective called.’
‘After the Lord Mayor’s coach…’
She moved until she could lie partly across him, breasts on his stomach. He had a hairy chest and she began to twirl hairs into spirals. ‘He told me he was almost certain he’d found out who was making the dirty calls; one of the telephone engineers. Only he hadn’t spoken to the man yet, so he couldn’t be absolutely certain.’ She created another two spirals of hair. ‘I wonder what kind of satisfaction he gets?’
‘From being a copper?’
‘No, the telephone engineer. I feel sorry for him.’
‘Why?’
‘His wife’s in hospital.’
‘He’s got to get his satisfaction somehow.’
‘I’m talking about the detective. She’s pregnant and something’s wrong so she has to stay in hospital.’
He wasn’t interested in other people’s problems; he had more than enough of his own. And now that his passion was assuaged, at least temporarily, they came flooding back. How to make certain whether or not the police had been tipped off? Did he really have to find the answer? Could he skate round the problem by not disclosing to the others who their next target was until they actually set out to do the job?… Only if he was prepared for them to go in blind, not really knowing what defences they faced – there might be quicker ways of getting locked up in maximum security for a fifteen-year stretch, but he didn’t know what those were …
‘Do you know Sirina?’
‘Screwed her wild a couple of days ago.’
She tugged a spiral of hair. ‘Silly! It’s one of the Greek Islands.’
She talked about the Greek Islands so often he wondered if she saw herself as a modern-day Circe … Goddamnit, there had to be some way of being certain, so why couldn’t he find it? The sense of frustration built up once more. He ran the fingers of his right hand down Genevieve’s spine and she moved until she could kiss him as her own fingers became busy …
He sat up, careless that in doing so he had nearly jerked her off the bed.
‘What’s up? Are you hurting?’
‘Shut up!’ he snapped.
She lay back, her expression wary.
‘This split, what sort of age is he?’
‘Mid twenties.’
‘And his wife’s likely to stay in hospital?’
‘Seems that way.’
‘Then he’s been starving?’
‘Unless she’s in a room on her own.’
‘And looking at you, he must have remembered how hungry he was?’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘A woman always knows if she’s giving a man the hots.’
‘How does it matter?’
‘Did you?’ he demanded angrily.
She showed no fear, even though the vicious side of his nature was suddenly obvious. ‘He looked, that’s all.’
‘No touching?’
‘No.’
‘But plenty eager?’
‘I suppose.’
‘So if you start giving signals … Let’s have a drink.’
She said, surprised: ‘You’re going to drink?’
‘We’re celebrating.’
‘What?’
‘Our partnership.’
She climbed off the bed. He watched her cross the floor and disappear through the doorway. Every movement of her body was an invitation.
She returned with a tray on which were two flutes and a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. She filled the glasses, handed him one, settled on the bed by his side. ‘What partnership?’
‘The one that makes you ten Ks.’
‘For doing what?’
He dipped his finger in the champagne, rubbed it on her right nipple. ‘For reminding a detective constable that he’s still got balls.’
* * *
Her father had died when she was five and her mother had taken to the bottle in a big way, leaving her all but abandoned; she might have featured in a sentimental Victorian music-hall song. Her aunt, who’d run a high-class call-girl system for many years with both taste and tact, had removed her from her mother’s care and virtually adopted her. Life had been lived in a spacious flat, attractively furnished because her aunt was a woman of considerable taste, and she had attended a school for young ladies, highly recommended by one of her aunt’s regulars. On her fifteenth birthday, her aunt had given her a diamond and ruby brooch and then initiated a woman-to-woman talk. ‘You know I love you as a daughter and therefore I want the very best in life for you, so it’s time to look to your future. When you’ve finished at school, you can go to university, but ever since they opened Oxford and Cambridge to the hoi polloi they no longer offer social advantages, only disadvantages. You can become a model, but as much as the idea may attract you, I have to say that you are not sufficiently bitchy to reach the top. We can find you a rich man to marry, but rich men are so uninteresting and mean … My dear, I have not the slightest doubt that your future lies in exploiting to the full your unique talent. You know what I mean, of course?’
‘I don’t think I do.’
‘Your ability to look at one and the same time like an innocent virgin and a woman for whom sixty-nine is more than half of a hundred and thirty-eight. I’ve often wondered from whom you’ve inherited so priceless a gift. After all, my natural assets are unambiguous and my poor, dear sister cannot be said to have had any at all. There is, of course, no need to make up your mind yet. One should always be extremely wary of men who seek to go too far down the road of youth. Eighteen will be time enough.’
On her eighteenth birthday, her aunt had given her a diamond necklace and had introduced her to a stockbroker who had paid a thousand pounds for the pleasure. That evening, she had taken her aunt to dinner at the Ritz as a small thank you for all her kindnesses.
She had been nineteen and a half when a man so rich that even head waiters bowed and scraped had taken her for a month’s cruise in the Mediterranean on his hundred and fifty-four foot yacht. One day, they’d anchored off the island of Sirina and she had discovered heaven …
She had instinctively liked Carr, admired his concern for his wife, and did not wish him any harm, but there was always a point at which emotions had to give way to practicalities. Trent had raised his offer to fifteen thousand. Fifteen thousand, when added to her savings, meant she would be able to return to heaven.
11
As Carr shaved, he miserably wondered if there was much that was crueller than seeing someone one loved suffer and being unable to do a bloody thing about it? He went downstairs and cooked breakfast, ate hurriedly, left the house and drove to the station because on a Sunday the bus service was poor. Pettit, night-duty officer, handed over in a rush. After he’d left, Carr checked the log book, the movements book, the DI’s book, the current files, and the notice board, then went over to his desk. On it, placed there by Pettit, were divisional and county memoranda, a fax from B division requiring an answer, two requests for witness statements, a photograph calling for an identification of the man whose head was ringed, papers to be filed, and a form filled in by him the previous day and rejected by the DI because of four typing errors. Fussy bastard!
The telephone rang. ‘Is that Mr Carr?’ a woman asked. The voice was vaguely familiar, but he could not immediately place why. ‘Speaking.’
‘It’s Genevieve Varney.’
Into his mind came an image which he immediately blurred. ‘Hullo, there. How can I help?’
‘You know you told me you were fairly certain you’d identified the man who’s been making those telephone calls?’
‘That’s right.’
‘What’s the position exactly?�
�
‘As far as he’s concerned? I had to rush off on another job, so one of my mates questioned him. He’s denying everything and so far there’s not the hard evidence to bring him in. But he now knows that we know he’s the guilty man, so even if we can’t take him to court right away, you won’t be troubled again.’
‘That’s just the point. I’ve had another call.’
His voice expressed his surprise. ‘Another obscene call?’
‘Yes.’
Against all the odds, had he made a misidentification? Despite all the circumstantial evidence, was Wolf innocent? ‘Was it the same man made the call?’
‘I thought it was at first. But there was something different about the voice and afterwards I thought maybe it wasn’t. And I put the receiver down too quickly to be certain … I’m scared.’
‘I assure you, there’s no need to be.’
‘I … I don’t know how far to believe that. I mean, of course I’m not trying to say you’re a liar, but you told me only a moment ago I wouldn’t be bothered again and I have been. He started saying how much more satisfying rape was than straight sex … That’s when I put the receiver down. I’m such a coward when I think of rape.’
‘That’s very natural.’
‘But suppose he breaks into my flat?’
‘Do you have an alarm system?’
‘Yes.’
‘And all doors and windows have a good locking system?’
‘I think so, but I don’t really know anything about such things.’
‘I’ll get the home security officer to call round and check everything out for you.’
‘When?’
‘I’m not certain if he’s on duty today. But he’ll be with you tomorrow morning.’
‘Can’t you come along and advise me right away?’
Gloria had taught him that a person’s reactions to events were always subjective, not objective. The odds against anyone breaking into Genevieve’s flat to rape her, following the telephone call, might logically be a thousand to one, but for her they were evens or perhaps odds on. ‘Tell you what. I’ll nip in as soon as I can and give everything the once-over so that you’ll feel safe tonight.’
‘I’m most terribly grateful.’
After he’d rung off, he went along to Wyatt’s room. ‘Sarge, I’ve just had Miss Varney on the blower. She’s very worried.’
‘What is it this time – a curious window cleaner?’
‘She’s had another dirty telephone call.’
Wyatt leaned back in his chair, belched quietly. ‘Didn’t you tell me the case was as good as wrapped up even if we couldn’t charge Wolf because Steve had made him so shit-scared he wouldn’t dare even to talk about buttered crumpets over the phone?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Now you’re telling me that that’s wrong.’
‘Maybe, maybe not. She’s not certain it’s the same man.’
‘The men are queuing up for full-frontal chats?’
‘It sounds unlikely, but the real point is, she’s scared that whoever he is, he’ll break into her flat and rape her. I tried to say how unlikely that was, but she wasn’t having it. So I said I’d get George to check the security out tomorrow. She didn’t like the idea of waiting and so I promised to give the place the once-over myself. It’ll add to the PR image and maybe I’ll be able to find out if it was just Wolf trying to disguise his voice. The problem is, that’ll leave CID bare.’
Wyatt rubbed his chin. ‘I’ll be around for a good while yet.’
‘Then I’ll nip across to see her and sniff out what I can.’
‘Just watch where you put your nose when you’re sniffing.’
* * *
Genevieve opened the door of the flat. ‘It’s so kind of you to come here.’
He stepped inside. ‘It’s the least I can do.’ Her blouse enjoyed considerable décolletage and her skirt was short and full. He found himself wondering how much he’d see if he bent down to pick up something from the floor.
She led the way into the sitting room. ‘I hope you don’t mind?’
‘What exactly won’t I mind?’
‘When I’m worried, I drink champagne because the bubbles help to make things right. But I don’t like drinking on my own, so I put a bottle in the fridge for when you called. You will have a drink with me, won’t you?’
He smiled. ‘Provided I don’t return to the station singing, “The policeman’s lot is a happy one,” it should be safe.’
‘That’s great.’
He watched her leave. She made him think of open moors on sunny days; but open moors with private little hollows observed only by the birds and the bees.
She returned with a salver on which were an ice bucket with a bottle in it and two flutes. She set the salver down on an occasional table.
He and Gloria had cracked a bottle of champagne on her birthday, a week before she had said that she thought she was pregnant once more. If they could have foretold the future, they’d not have drunk so cheerfully …
‘You’re looking sad.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Something’s wrong?’
‘Looking at the champagne made me remember the last time I drank some.’
‘And that wasn’t a happy occasion?’
‘It was very happy because it was my wife’s birthday. But not long after, she discovered she was pregnant and…’
‘She’ll be all right. Sometimes I’m psychic, and I know she will.’ She struggled with the wire cage enclosing the cork. ‘Damnit, I can never manage these things. Would you?’
He stood and crossed the room. As she passed him the bottle, their fingers briefly touched. Silk, he thought. He eased the wire loose, revolved the bottle about the cork to free it, poured out two glassfuls.
‘Not a drop lost! You’re obviously someone who does everything perfectly,’ she said as she took a glass from him. She crossed to one of the armchairs and sat.
He was annoyed to discover that he had instinctively watched to see how far up her thighs her dress rode as she sat.
‘I really am grateful for your coming here. I’ve been so scared.’
‘You needn’t be. As I’ve told you, the kind of man who makes obscene calls is almost always far too timid to do anything which might put him in the slightest physical danger.’
‘I know, but I still … I’m being very stupid, aren’t I?’
‘Far from it.’
‘But when he talked about rape being so much more satisfying…’
He was about to ask her if she’d activated the alert alarm when he remembered that he’d been so certain the trouble was sorted out that he’d advised the telephone company to remove the equipment. ‘Have you thought any more about whether it was the same man?’
‘I’ve thought a lot. And I can’t be certain, but I think it was and he was trying to disguise his voice and that’s why I started thinking it was him. Is that possible?’
‘Very much so. But just to try to sort things out, concentrate on the general cadence of the two voices and tell me if they seem to have been the same.’
After a moment, she said: ‘I think they were.’
‘Did he talk about the same things and describe them in the same terms?’
‘He never said before how satisfying rape was, but the way he described rape was similar.’
Despite her answers, he still found it difficult to accept that a man like Wolf would have ignored the warning he had received. ‘I’ll have another word with the man and make quite certain that if it was him this last time, he doesn’t carry on.’
‘It’s wonderful having someone like you to look after me.’
The way in which she said that made him feel ten feet tall.
She stood, picked out the bottle from the ice bucket, crossed and refilled his glass. Because of the depth of her neckline, as she poured he was able to see the curves of her breasts, unhindered by any brassière. He jerked his gaze away.
&nb
sp; She refilled her own glass, sat.
‘As soon as I’ve finished my drink, Miss Varney, I’ll…’
‘For heaven’s sake, Miss Varney makes it sound as if you regard me with the deepest suspicion. Genevieve.’
‘When I’ve finished my drink, I’ll check out the flat’s security.’
‘Why are you always in a rush?’
‘Because, unfortunately, I’m always on duty.’
‘Couldn’t you say that a near-hysterical woman refused to let you leave in a hurry?’
‘My sergeant wouldn’t believe me.’
‘I could always add a scratch or two for colour.’
He hoped his laugh sounded carefree.
* * *
She went into her bedroom and changed into sweater and jeans. Back in the sitting room, she played a Louis Armstrong disc. Trent had wanted her to make a move right away. She had counselled patience. Deny a horse its oats and it became hungry; deny a man, and he became frantic.
* * *
Wolf was lupine in name only. Plump, slackly muscled, his normal expression one of weak worry, Sheep would have been more fitting. ‘I swear to God it weren’t me.’
‘She says it was the same caller as before,’ replied Carr. ‘That makes it you.’
‘I ain’t never made that kind of a call. What’s more, I couldn’t of phoned her this morning.’
‘Why not?’
‘I was in church.’
‘Like I was having breakfast with Madonna.’
‘Ask my ma.’ Wolf’s fingers plucked the air as he stood near the small boarded-up fireplace, on the mantelpiece of which were several grunge holiday mementoes.
‘Mothers don’t make reliable witnesses because they can get so sentimental they tell fibs about sons even like you.’
‘Then ask the vicar. I’m a sidesman.’
It was too unlikely a scenario to be disbelieved. Which meant that, despite the odds, it had been a second man who’d phoned Genevieve that morning. And, contrary to what he’d said more than once, he might well pose a physical threat.
The Price of Failure Page 6