Hidden Power

by Judith Cutler

  In the end, Them Upstairs had decided not to send Kate into work on Friday morning. What they would send was a couple of highly-trained officers claiming to be local authority food inspectors to talk to Vernon and the chef, and ask to look at the freezer. If—it was a big if—the photographic material were still there, then Them Upstairs would decide who should remove it and when. Kate saw fistfuls of short straws being thrust her way.

  But she was too tired to worry even about that. Lulled at last by the rumbles, she fell deeply asleep again.

  Earnshaw obviously believed in early hours, Kate’s sickie notwithstanding.

  ‘Look at the rubbish you eat,’ she said, flourishing a packet of cereal. ‘I bet there’s more nutrition in the cardboard box than there is in that stuff. Whatever happened to decent porridge? Or even decent bread? And what’s this? Low-fat spread. Butter, that’s what’s best, not all this emulsifying and colouring stuff. Read the ingredients, woman. With butter you know what you’re getting. Skimmed milk: for Christ’s sake, it goes bad, not sour!’

  Kate didn’t allow herself so much as a smile behind her hand.

  ‘And you go and do a day’s work with nothing but this muck inside you. No wonder you’re touchy. Now, today we’re going to concentrate our efforts looking for Craig. The team looking for him will want to talk to you, I imagine. Hang on. Stay where you are.’ Just like a school nit-nurse, she grabbed Kate’s hair and lifted it. But the fingers she ran over the bruise were surprisingly gentle. ‘Hmm. Wouldn’t hurt you to compare notes with Knowles about your assailants. And we’d better get a medic to look at both your bumps. No, I’ll make the coffee. What’s this? Decaffeinated? All right, tea.’ Which was mercifully kept in a caddy, so she couldn’t tell that it was decaffeinated too.

  Kate bit her lip—God, perhaps she’d put Craig through cold turkey! Perhaps caffeine-withdrawal had added to his problems. No. She put that to the back of her mind. What with his booze and his pot and God knew what else besides he was getting enough chemical stimulation.

  The pot: she’d have to mention it to the investigating team. She’d bet her pension that Earnshaw hadn’t. There might even be other drugs. Something else tapped at the foggy mess that passed for her mind this morning. ‘Ma’am,’ she began, ‘did anyone ever check out the car I saw on Berry Head? If anyone did, I can’t remember what the result was.’

  Earnshaw frowned. ‘I don’t recall anything either. We’ll get on to that this morning, too. Come on. It’s almost eight already. Time we hit the road.’

  Kate had to hand it to the Devon and Cornwall Constabulary.

  They might have been less than supportive of a grockle, an in-comer, but for Craig they were pulling out a lot of expensive stops, including a psychological profiler, who had been given the use of Knowles’s office for the day. She was actually introduced by name—Dr Eve Stowe. Dr Stowe was a little older then Kate, perhaps thirty-five. But while Kate deplored her own current lack of style, this woman seemed to revel in hers. Why on earth didn’t she at least wash her hair? Why had she never had her teeth straightened—or at very least scaled and polished within recent memory. And why choose to dress from charity shops when your salary surely ran to at least a working suit and shoes not down at heel? And why—why for goodness’ sake—eschew the make-up that might have transformed a very plain woman with bad skin into a passable one? No, Kate wasn’t impressed by Dr Stowe. Not at first glance.

  But she suspected she’d done her a major injustice as soon as she started to talk. Her eyes gleamed behind their pallid lashes.

  ‘Kate, you’re the one who’s had, on the face of it, most to do with Craig. He has been in regular touch with DO Earnshaw and Superintendent Knowles, of course, but people react differently to people further up the hierarchy, don’t they? Especially to people with whom they’re sharing a house.’

  Earnshaw put in, ‘He was a good cop, don’t forget that.’

  ‘I hope he still is a good cop,’ Stowe said patiently. ‘But the more we know about him the quicker we should be able to find him. Don’t forget you and Superintendent Knowles weren’t just senior to him, you were actually pretending to be his parents. You know,’ she added, chewing a ballpoint, ‘I think we might do better to talk to you individually. Did someone say that Superintendent Knowles was being discharged from hospital this morning? Will he be well enough to come in here this afternoon, or shall I go out to him?’

  ‘I’ll find out,’ Earnshaw said. ‘No point in hanging round here, I can see. I’ll be in my office. I’ve got work to do. I’ll be wading through my in-tray if anyone wants me.’ Earnshaw always stomped.. This time her stomp sounded distinctly offended.

  ‘Perhaps you should have spoken to her first,’ Kate said.

  ‘My job. My decision. OK, why don’t we get a coffee and find somewhere more comfortable to sit?’ She glanced bleakly at the police-issue walls. Nothing to make them human except some framed photos of cricket teams. ‘Then you can tell me what it was like living with Craig Barnard.’

  Stowe leaned back in Knowles’s chair it seemed that space was at as great a premium here as at the West Midlands Police Headquarters building, and that there was nothing better on offer. ‘Let’s start with a fact Craig set out on Wednesday with £250 in his pocket—and hasn’t been seen since—what does he do?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  Stowe shook her head. ‘I’m asking you, Kate.’

  ‘Any other time of day I’d say he went to the pub, got nearly—but not quite pissed—with his mates, picked up some pot, bought something from a chippie. Now, Knowles and Earnshaw know—’

  ‘I’ll ask them what they know. Right now I’m asking you. “Pissed with his mates”—police or civilian mates?’

  ‘He’d got both. He wasn’t supposed to consort with police officers, of course, not while he was undercover. That’s the thing I hate most: being cut off from people you care about.’ She wasn’t about to weep, was she? ‘But Craig kept in touch. Anyway, he’d certainly made some new mates recently. He went with them to see Torquay United play. Macker—he stayed with a guy called Macker. And he’s still in touch with Ned—I don’t think I ever knew her surname, but Knowles would be able to tell you. She’s a gay motor mechanic. She touched on some problem he had in Bristol. But you don’t want hearsay.’

  ‘No. But I’ll get onto that source now. Bear with me.’ Stowe leaned away from Kate to speak into her phone. ‘Thanks for that: I’ll be talking to Ned later, as you heard. OK. You and Craig. Why was there such antagonism?’

  ‘I think we disliked each other on sight. We both have big egos. He was well briefed, I was in almost complete ignorance. He was in role from minute one. It took me time to get anywhere near mine. I studied my biog, the geography, the roads, the shops: everything I could. But not him. I didn’t even know his real name until yesterday.’

  ‘Why did he dislike you?’

  ‘I told you.’

  ‘No. You said you disliked each other on sight. Why should he dislike you as soon as he laid eyes on you?’

  ‘I suppose I looked smart and sort of city-ish.’

  ‘Whereas he—?’

  ‘Looked like a country yokel. Yes, even his hair, his skin were right. Dr Stowe, he was Craig Knowles. Never a word, a gesture, an allusion to suggest he wasn’t. He played the part to perfection. No wonder I irritated him when I used language quite out of my character’s repertoire. When I preferred clothes she couldn’t afford. He must have seen me as some poncy amateur.’

  ‘Was there anything about you he liked?’

  ‘Maybe my memory. Yes. And I got the feeling that while he wouldn’t have leapt around congratulating me, he was impressed that I was getting promoted quickly—when, that is, he knew I was on the accelerated promotion scheme. Before that, he assumed I was sleeping my way to the top. He got very angry about that.’

  ‘Did you discuss that?’

  Kate shook her head. ‘The first weekend I was down, my—my boyfriend, partner,
what have you—he came down and we spent it together. Craig—I was depending on him for a lift—deliberately, made me late. And Rod and our relationship were certainly an irritation to him.’

  ‘Did he have a relationship of his own?’

  ‘According to Ned, there was an ex-wife. But I never asked him. There didn’t seem to be—’

  ‘Time?’

  ‘The right time. Very soon we spent as much of our time apart as we could. It fitted in with the official scenario, after all.’ She snorted. ‘Do you know, he assumed we’d be sleeping together. He’d taken down the curtains in the spare room, and made up just one bed.’

  ‘What did you feel about that? What did you say?’

  ‘“In your dreams, baby.” Or something like that. Hang on, Dr Stowe: you seem more interested in me than in Craig. He wasn’t even living in the same house as me when he went missing. I didn’t drive him out or anything.’

  Dr Stowe might have been addressing a child. ‘The more you tell me, the more I know about him. No one is blaming you or even thinking about blaming you. Just go on talking about him.’

  Kate nodded. She hated this. Hated the knowledge that she might have picked something up earlier, which might have prevented this. ‘OK. He resented sitting around while I was able to do things. I got into the Sophisticasun complex almost immediately; I was provided with a motorbike, which gave me independence. Though the bike was actually his idea, I think he saw it all as stealing a march on him. As if we were in competition, not co-operation. The only time he ever gave a hint that he might respect me was when I wouldn’t grass on him. He—expressed his anger—about Knowles and Earnshaw kicking him out. And I wouldn’t grass. Things seemed to improve after that.’

  ‘Have you ever spoken about his anger? Or his violence against you?’

  ‘Once when he got violent, I responded in kind. But—this is horrible—I found myself getting more and more into the role of a downtrodden wife. It was Knowles and Earnshaw who tackled him about the way he treated me.’ She rolled up a sleeve to show her bruises. ‘I didn’t talk to him about his pot or the state of his room. I simply tried to avoid the issues.’

  Dr Stowe frowned. ‘And you let him get away with some unpleasant act. What was it?’

  Kate got to her feet. ‘Do you have to know?’ If she didn’t spill the beans, Ned would. ‘OK. He shat in my bed. He went into my room and picked all my things over and then he crapped right in the middle of the bed.’

  ‘And you told no one what he’d done!’

  ‘No one except Ned, and only her because she heard me swear and came to see what was the matter.’

  ‘And you didn’t tell your bosses? Earnshaw and Knowles?’ Stowe squeaked with disbelief.

  ‘In the police you don’t want a reputation for grassing. People have long memories.’

  ‘So do you plan your own revenge on Craig? Do, please, sit down’

  ‘Why? I’m not into that sort of thing—grass-cuttings in people’s lockers or super-gluing car locks have never appealed to me. Boys’ games.’ Kate flushed She sounded bloody supercilious, didn’t she? She sat.

  ‘OK. You didn’t grass him up. And things seemed to improve. Tell me about that.’

  ‘I wanted to make some effort… So I told him how I’d had to have therapy—handling maggots, as it happens—after my partner’s death. Sexual partner as well as police partner. And he managed the occasional grin. But while I was talking, he was going through something. I’m sure of that. You see, I reckon something happened while he was undercover. Something that traumatised him. Something that’s mucked him up. Post-traumatic stress disorder. Isn’t that what they call it?’

  Stowe laughed. ‘They do indeed. If, and it’s a big if, that’s what’s the matter with him, a proper debriefing—’

  ‘I don’t know whether he was debriefed or not. If he was, I bet he wasn’t co-operative.’

  Dr Stowe said slowly, ‘You’ve given me a picture of an angry man, full of latent and sometimes actual violence. Do you think that that anger might have turned against himself?’

  ‘I don’t know. He never seemed the suicidal type. But who does? No. Not with that £250 in his pocket.’

  ‘So what would you say has happened to him?’

  Kate looked round the room, finding only straight-backed cricketers for inspiration. ‘You know, this may sound odd, but I’d say he’s gone to find himself a bit of the action. On Dartmoor or even at Cockwood.’ She leaned urgently forward. ‘And if he has, I’m afraid something may have gone badly wrong.’

  • • •

  There was to be a lunchtime briefing for Earnshaw, Kate and Knowles, who would be discharged by midday. Meanwhile, Kate found her way to Earnshaw’s room to tell her that Stowe wanted her and to ask if she could use her phone and computer. ‘That Birmingham car, Gaffer—sorry, Guv.’

  ‘OK. You can have a look at some more mug-shots, too that woman with the lungs has sent another batch down line.’

  ‘Mona. Good. Guv—this afternoon…is there—will I be needed?’

  Earnshaw stopped in the doorway. ‘If you think I can’t tell when someone wants to slide off and do something they shouldn’t, you can think again.’ She stepped forward, inspecting Kate more closely. ‘What do you want to do? Get your roots done or something? No, I’ll give you that—you’re not a skiver. Not usually. You know what I think? I think you were planning a little ride on that machine of yours. To Chagford, and our aggressive pig-farmer. There! Got you! No, Power. Not without back-up And not until the medics have compared your lump with Knowles’s.’

  Was it concern for staff or concern for police work? Kate had better give her the benefit of the doubt. She switched on the computer and fed in the Audi’s registration number. Very soon she dialled a familiar Birmingham number, to be greeted by a familiar groan.

  ‘Sue, I wouldn’t be asking this if it weren’t important.’

  ‘No need to apologise, Kate—it’s just that my in-tray’s overflowing and I’ve just had a phone call from my son’s school to say they think he’s got glandular fever and would I come and collect him. I’ll pass you on to Colin—he’ll know someone.’

  Colin was the one she’d wanted in the first place, of course. But Kate knew her hierarchies, and Sue was usually good for a flatter. Not as good as Colin, of course, who listened to Kate’s account of what had been happening to her with a mixture of incredulity and anger. But after ten minutes’ satisfactory sympathy, support and gossip, he had to give her the names and phone numbers she was after. Community officers all over Birmingham. If they didn’t know something about black Audis with tinted windows, no one would.

  Chapter 28

  ‘Good news or bad news? The bad’s that our Audi driver’s name is Earle Gray. Sorry,’ she added as everyone groaned. ‘I’ve already done all the jokes with my contact in Brum. The good news is that he’s alive and well, living in a block of council flats in Quinton. That’s a suburb of Birmingham. He’s got no conviction, as yet, because he’s never been found with enough on him—cash or cannabis. But the local beat officer knows Earle’s collar-size.’

  ‘He’s fingered it that often, has he?’ Earnshaw grunted. ‘Has he pulled him in again?’

  ‘Not without your or Superintendent Knowles’s say-so, Ma’am. Parking on Berry Head isn’t a crime. But as soon as you have anything you’d like to talk to him about, Kim Bolton will go ahead. Here’s his direct line.’ She passed the paper across.

  ‘Good. What did the quack say about your lump? And yours, Guv?’ Earnshaw turned to Knowles.

  Knowles snorted. ‘There’s some information easier to come by if you’re dead, it seems. But since neither Kate nor I wished to oblige with post-mortem evidence, no one could say anything worth saying. Especially as Kate had the temerity to move while she was being thumped. And then to ice the bruise.’

  ‘Nothing at all?’ Earnshaw was visibly chastened.

  ‘Not even the same blunt instrument. Seems it was your t
eapot, Leeds, that he used on me. Well, young Gregorie admits it. He’s singing the “Hallelujah Chorus” all of a sudden. Not the song we wanted to hear, but there you are.’

  Despite herself, Kate touched her bruise. ‘The whole song, or just a bit? Does he admit hitting me, for instance?’

  ‘Oh, according to the interviewing team, he’s like one of those people who goes over the same bit of melody time and time again—drives you mad. This particular song is that he saw you in Kenton—’

  ‘Not the Cockwood kitchen?’

  ‘Absolutely not. Coming out of the village store. He says he fancied you straightaway and that he followed you on impulse and lost his head and he’s dreadfully, dreadfully sorry. Never done it before. Ever.’

  ‘Odd to have an impulse that makes him hang around while a doctor comes and goes. You’d have thought lurking in the lane might have made him a bit more rational. Are we really supposed to believe that?’ Earnshaw asked.

  ‘Until someone much higher up tells us not to. You see, I reckon it’s someone much further up in his organisation who’s pulling his strings. When he wanted a lawyer, he didn’t want someone from a nice old-established Exeter firm. Goodness me no. He’s got this London lad zapping down the motorway to advise him. And although Gregorie doesn’t look as if he lacks a penny or two, these top buggers don’t come cheap.’

  ‘You think someone else is footing the bill?’ Kate asked.

  ‘I think someone is telling our Gregorie what to say. And when they find out who his victim was, they’ll tell him to say someone different. In the meantime, they don’t want anyone rocking the organisation’s boat. We’ve got enough to hold him on. And we’ve gob-swabbed him.’

  ‘But you got his DNA from that tissue I saved.’