‘Your word. We’ve had his dear little mouth officially deprived of a few cells and can compare them officially with any other samples from scenes of crime. Your part in this, Kate, will be kept under wraps just as long as it possibly can be.’
‘What about dropping charges and releasing him—seeing where he goes?’ Earnshaw suggested.
‘We know where he’ll go. Back to Oxford. He’s got a legitimate life there: work, accommodation, everything. I can’t imagine his lawyer letting him flit at this stage.’
Kate, whose head was beginning to throb again, was getting angry. Another case of the villain being treated with kindness while the victim—hell! She wasn’t a victim! Not her. To cover her sudden rush of tears, she asked, ‘What did they find out at Cockwood? The lads who went out?’
‘As you’d predicted, Kate. A terribly concerned Gary Vernon, wringing his hands. “Problems with food hygiene? Moi?” And nothing interesting in the freezer.’
‘Shit. I suppose it’d be too risky to say I remembered seeing stuff in the freezer that shouldn’t have been there and could that be a motive for sacking me? No.’ Kate let her head droop in apology—yet no one else had come up with anything more positive. ‘And I suppose there’s no news about Craig?’
Stowe, who’d been so silent Kate had forgotten she was there, shook her head. ‘Not yet. But I’ve told the team they should think about concentrating their efforts on Dartmoor. I’m sure you’re all correct—he’ll have gone after the Range Rover man.’
Kate opened her mouth to object but Knowles intervened stiffly, ‘If you two had made more of an effort to get along then he wouldn’t be missing now. Oh, I know I told you’—he nodded curtly at Stowe—‘it was his fault, mostly. But when push comes to shove, it takes two to argue. But if you’d been more…less…’
‘Funny thing, Guv: the less I stood up to him the more aggressive he got. But he certainly didn’t like it when I did give him as good as he was giving. But that doesn’t help us.’
Stowe said positively, ‘For what it’s worth, I’m sure he was directing anger outwards, not at himself.’
‘In other words, he hasn’t topped himself. But that doesn’t get us very far: Dartmoor’s a big place. Meanwhile, Kate, it seems as if the whole case is back in your hands. We need something concrete—’
‘Isn’t extortion enough? Putting pressure on people to sell up? Softening them up with bogus offers?’
‘This is all guesswork,’ Earnshaw said, ‘and all pretty small beer. But people are following up each strand, of course.’
Kate knew that tone of voice. She’d heard it often enough when bosses knew they couldn’t ignore something but were damned well not going to waste their officers’ valuable time prioritising it. So she tried a different tack. ‘The plants?’
‘None on the site any longer, of course. Vernon says there were some brought in for a special function, which was cancelled at the last minute.’
‘I didn’t know anything about a function.’
‘You were only a cleaner.’ Knowles’s voice dropped to subzero. ‘And we’ve got no photographs.’
‘You mean they didn’t come out? All those I took of the Vernons’ guests—’
‘Not those. The ones in the freezer,’ he said, tetchy as an officer with a sore head. ‘And we’ve no idea who’s in the scam, who isn’t. There may be any number of quite innocent people doing a decent day’s work for a company that just happens to be bent. We want to nail the right people, Power. Get back in there tomorrow and do your job. Unless you’d rather be out on Dartmoor beating your way across acres of heather looking for the body of a dead colleague? Because that’s where I’ll be.’ He touched his bruise.
Oh, the bastard, pressing emotional buttons. ‘I presume there isn’t a genuine choice, Sir? Because as a matter of fact I’d like to be doing that too.’
Storming out of a meeting like that was never a good idea, not when you knew that the Super was in the right, you in the wrong. But it was either that or let them see her in tears. And that was just about the worst thing she could do.
Kate found a loo and locked herself in. If she’d known why she was crying it wouldn’t have been so bad. It couldn’t—could it?—be for the missing Craig. It couldn’t be because they were asking too much of her. No, in many respects she was quite looking forward to nosing round the Cockwood apartments. It wasn’t because she’d hoped for a weekend’s rest: no, the quicker she tied up all the loose ends, the sooner she’d be back with Rod…
Oh, enough of this. Dousing her face in cold water, she pulled her shoulders straight and set off briskly down the corridor: she’d take a bloody bus back to Newton Abbot.
• • •
She soon found another reason to yearn for Brum: at least they’d got their public transport sorted there. At peak times the number fifty bus ran every four minutes. Well, neither Newton nor Exeter was quite the conurbation that Birmingham was, and of course the distances were greater. But the bus journey had been endless—would have been worse if she hadn’t hitched lift with a couple of WPCs in a patrol car. They’d promised to drop her at one of the stations, but had had to respond to an incident. So there she was, at the mercy of a bus system that took her well over an hour to get to Newton. On impulse, she did what she was quite sure Kate Potter wouldn’t have done: she took a cab from Sherborne Street. Enough was enough. She couldn’t face the long walk in heavy drizzle. At last she put her key in the lock. She deserved an aromatherapy bath and a decent take-away. In fact, she promised herself both. But she knew the thoughts of the evening were to keep her mind off the present. She had to go into an empty, inimical house. Once in, telling herself it was from habit but really knowing she was afraid of a repeat of yesterday, she stood straining her ears. But the only sound—loud, banal, but still enough to make her heart pound—was the phone. Well, if she were in for a bollocking, it could wait until she’d locked herself in. And picked up the post, which was a computer-addressed envelope with a Birmingham postmark. She knew of only one man to use such good quality stationery. Inside was an anonymous postcard showing the sights of the city with an X on the back She sat on the stairs and cried over it. What a lovely man Rod was.
The phone rang on. She’d better answer. ‘Yes?’
‘Kate? I’ve been trying to get you all day.’
‘Mr Vernon!’
‘Where’ve you been?’
‘Well, the doctor wanted another look at my head, didn’t he? And when it’s not an emergency, you have to take potluck with the appointment. And I thought I’d have a look at some shops but I gave up.’
‘You sound really fed up.’
Who wouldn’t be? Jesus, attempted rape, a bang on the head, another assault? Even Kate Power needed more than twenty-four hours to get over that lot. But she was Kate Potter. ‘For two pins, I’d just do a flit and skip up to Birmingham. But—no, after all you’ve done for me, I won’t let you down. I’ll be there tomorrow. I’ll make sure I give you proper notice and everything, honestly.’
‘I’m sure you will, Kate. But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. In fact—well, I wasn’t phoning about that at all. I was…no, it’s a real cheek, specially if you’ve had a hard day…’
‘No, not so bad. Just a lot of time-wasting, that’s all. I know the saying, “When God made time he made plenty of it.” But not so much you want to spend hours staring at posters waiting your turn. And then the bloody bus back—the doc had said not to ride my bike until he’d seen me again, though he says I can now.’
‘Oh dear. Are you up to…you see, we were wondering, Julie and I… We’ve been offered some tickets for a concert out at the university, and you know what Julie’s like about music. And the kids’d really appreciate knowing you’re all right.’
Kate laughed. ‘Well, I’d love to see them. What time?’
‘Seven. And Kate—’
‘Yes?’
‘No need to dress up this time. Come as you are.’
> Kate stared at herself in the mirror: yes, she really would rather be out in the thin, drenching rain, falling over roots, skin torn by undergrowth, than spending a cosy evening with two lovely children. Much. She’d have to make sure this was the last time she saw them. What excuse could she find? Some infection? Evening classes? A new love in her life? She’d think of something.
Meanwhile she’d better put on some make-up and make herself respectable. Hell: no time to eat. She’d ask the Vernons if she could make herself a sandwich. She couldn’t imagine them objecting. After all, she wouldn’t be able to console herself on the way home with a magnificent chicken tikka in naan from a convenient chippie.
Should she take something for the kids? Something they’d remember as a farewell present? She toyed with the idea of sweets or chocolates. No. They had plenty of those. And they weren’t really connected with her. She’d simply leave the book and the game behind.
It was becoming the norm for Kate Potter to tidy up while the children fell asleep, so she didn’t feel that that was prying. One glance at the Vernons’ bedroom told her she should start there. Poor Julie: she hadn’t looked as if she had the strength to sit through a couple of hours of a string quartet. She certainly hadn’t managed to hang up her clothes and put her shoes away. Nice things, too. The sort of shirt Kate Power bought, and better shoes. Gary usually slung his things on to an ottoman. Only his jacket was there this evening, part of the cheapish suit he wore to work when no one important was due. Smoothing it out, Kate hung it up and stowed it in his wardrobe. It really needed pressing. If there were other ironing, she might just do it. Then she paused. Where were his shirt and trousers?
Before she went downstairs, she tried his office door again: still locked. Was she surprised? Sighing, she set off to tidy the kitchen. It didn’t take long, and the ironing basket was empty. She’d check the washing machine—perhaps that needed emptying. Why were the only things in it Vernon’s shirt and trousers and socks? You washed more than that in a load. And why were his shoes in the utility room, obviously waiting to be cleaned? How had a man with such a sedentary job got his feet so mucky?
He’d been checking those plants off his premises, of course. Obvious.
Why not slump in front of the TV? It was all she felt up to. But even as she eased off her shoes she thought of her colleagues searching Dartmoor for Craig. Poor bastards. In this weather.
But they weren’t searching Cockwood. They would soon. And what would they find? Slowly, inexorably, Kate found herself getting to her feet and heading for the utility room.
Afraid to ask herself why she was doing it, she searched the kitchen for freezer bags, a knife and a pair of fine scissors. And Julie’s rubber gloves.
With infinite care she teased out some still stained fibres from the inside of the right cuff. More from the turn-up. And then she scraped mud—ominously, there were two different colours, one horribly familiar if you’d ever seen the site of a bloody death—from the shoes.
No point in getting emotional now. She still had a brain. She’d better use it. Should she return the clothes to the machine or shake them out and leave them to dry? On the whole, the less she had to do with them the better, even if the Vernons might find her inefficiency uncharacteristic.
If they did, they were quick to excuse it. Julie, sinking down on the sofa beside her, exclaimed at her pallor, insisted on inspecting the bruise and called to Gary, still in the hall, to bring wine for all of them.
‘Did you get around to eating? No, I bet Gary five pounds you wouldn’t. What a good job we stopped off on the way! Gary said you’d liked the curries in Birmingham, so we got this huge take-away. Do you mind eating in the kitchen? If you get this stuff on the carpet the stain never comes off.’ Gaily as she was talking, however, she could hardly stagger to her feet. Kate linked arms with her as if in a sisterly way, but in fact supporting her as best she could.
‘Now, we bought a mixture of mild and hot,’ Vernon said, ‘since we weren’t sure how used to curry you are. But first we’ve got poppadums and dips. Then there’s starters. And only then do we get on to the curries proper…’
How could she eat with them, knowing what she’d tucked into her Panthers? More to the point, how could she eat with a man she thought was a killer? But she had no proof. And Julie hadn’t harmed anyone. If Julie had to chide her for not eating, it would draw attention to the fact that she herself was doing no more than crumble the poppadum and sip the lager, which Gary insisted went better with the meal than wine.
And the food was very good.
There must be something neutral she could talk about.
‘This concert—this chamber music… I’ve heard music on the radio, of course, and my friend took me to something in Symphony Hall in Birmingham: she said I had to go there once. But it was all singing…’
‘Symphony Hall! How wonderful! It’s supposed to have the best acoustics in the country! I’ve always wanted to hear Simon Rattle conduct—or do I mean see him? Though of course he’s left for Berlin…’ As she talked, Julie seemed to brighten. She even ate quite well, though from time to time she’d look anxiously at Vernon, almost as if trying to prompt him.
He didn’t take the hint, however, until they’d all passed on the selection of Indian sweets he’d laid on the table with a flourish. Coughing slightly, and looking at Julie as if both wanting to please her, and hoping for support, he said, ‘Kate—I know you said you felt like leaving Devon and going up to your friend in Birmingham. Well, we were hoping we could change your mind.’ He poured more lager. ‘Look, Kate… We know you’re a wonderful worker. And we know the kids love you.’
‘And I think you love them,’ Julie said.
Kate nodded, looking from one to the other.
‘Now… Look, there’s some new treatment for MS coming on stream. Still experimental. But we’ve found this guy in the States who’s prepared to put Julie on his test programme. A guinea pig, if you like.’
‘Clinical trials,’ Julie said ‘He says I’m ideal. Asked me all these questions via e-mail. And both my GP and my consultant are happy for me to go.’
‘That’s the problem, you see. The States or Australia. Not exactly half a mile down the road.’
She knew what was coming. God, please don’t let them. They mustn’t.
‘So what we hoped—’ they said together. Julie gestured Gary to finish, reaching across to take Kate’s hand.
‘What we both hoped was that you might give up working for that tin-pot agency and come and work for us instead. As a full-time nanny.’
Let logic operate first. ‘But they don’t need a nanny. They’re too old for that.’
‘They need stability and love and a nice clean home to come back to. Nanny and house-keeper, I suppose.’
‘But I’m not qualified. I mean, I can’t cook or anything.’ Jesus, how had she ever got into this?
‘I’ve never seen you do badly at anything you’ve tried,’ Vernon said. ‘Look, it’s late, and we can see that the idea’s come as a bit of a surprise. Don’t give us an answer now.’
Saved. For a while at least.
‘Maybe we could talk about it in the morning? You will be in, won’t you?’
‘Of course I will. If I wake up—have you seen the time? Mind you, I’ll be better off on my bike than I was this afternoon. An hour and a half it took me…’
Chapter 29
Today she had to have a long talk with Vernon, and, given that camera in his office, not to mention the bug she herself had put in place, she had to talk to him outside, despite the rain. That meant they’d be out of range of the conference room bug, too. Kate didn’t want what she was going to say to him to be overheard by anyone—certainly not recorded.
In the event, it was her cleaning work that gave her an opportunity. There was definitely a little lens glinting in the corner of the main bedrooms in the old apartments she tackled. Not only would showing them to him get him out of the office, it would open the
conversation too. But not, of course, in the apartment. If she didn’t want her police colleagues in on the conversation, she wanted his mates still less.
It certainly wasn’t the best of mornings for a long talk in the open. The rain might have eased, but there was still a steady drizzle, and the trees and shrubs dripped dispiritingly. The leaves were mushy underfoot. Once or twice she’d been lucky to keep the bike upright, particularly on the road past Earnshaw’s cottage, where she’d dropped off the soil and fabric samples. No, she hadn’t woken Earnshaw. At least, she hoped not. She’d be in bad enough odour with her without that. Storming out of that meeting wouldn’t have been the best way of pleasing her. And she didn’t want to talk about what she was planning to do either. No, what she had to say must be strictly off the record.
As she told Gary Vernon, as they strolled across the grassed area towards the older apartments.
‘What on earth do you mean, Kate?’
‘I mean I’m going to ask you things you won’t want to tell me, and possibly tell you things I shouldn’t. Let’s start with what I’ve just found in Apartments Twenty-three and Twenty-four, though. Mr Vernon: why are there surveillance cameras in the bedroom ceilings? No, don’t try to deny it. The sooner this conversation’s over the sooner we can be warm and dry.’
‘I thought you wanted to talk to me about the job with the children,’ he protested.
‘I do. Later. But you must answer my question first.’
‘“You must”! I don’t have to do anything!’ The pink and white cheeks flushed scarlet.
Oh, dear. She’d hoped he wouldn’t bluster like this. ‘Just answer it. Please,’ she added as an afterthought.
‘It’s nothing to do with you.’
‘I’m waiting,’ she said, implacably.
‘It’s company policy.’
Hidden Power Page 27