In the downstairs toilet, he made a quick call, before heading back to the kitchen. Sitting on a matching stool he said: ‘I’ve spoken to Sue and it’s okay for me to stay here tonight.’
It had been far from okay but he couldn’t leave Sam. He would face the consequences tomorrow.
‘Ed, there’s no need, I’ll be fine. Really.’
‘I’m sure you will, but I’m staying anyway. I’ll sleep on your couch, and get some fresh clothes in the morning.’
‘I appreciate it. Thanks. He really spooked me. And now he’s taking the piss big time, and that’s swearing. Do you fancy a drink? Sorry I’ve got no beer. A glass of wine?’
‘So much for the kettle! Yeah, that’ll be good. I could do with a drink. Thanks.’
‘Red or white?’ Sam asked, smiling for the first time since she’d seen the ball.
‘Whatever. I’m not really a wine person.’
Sam walked across the kitchen, more reassured by Ed’s presence than she was prepared to admit, to her well-stocked thermo-electric wine cooler. The kitchen was large, modern and spotlessly clean. ‘Trevor Stewart wanted to replace me with Dave Smithies.’
‘What?’
‘Said he was looking after my welfare. You know, after the phone call.’
‘I was going to say how does he know that, but he’s got eyes and ears everywhere. And Smithies used to have responsibility for the guys with the panic alarms.’
‘Well, however they found out, between them they want shot of me.’
‘They need a sound reason. And they won’t get one. Tossers. Anyway, how do you keep this place so clean working the hours you do?’ Ed asked.
‘Sorry I can’t take the credit. I’ve got a cleaner. She’s been today, hence the reason it looks so spotless,’ Sam answered, pulling the cork on a bottle of Vosne-Romanee Domain Jean Grivot, a Premier Cru Burgundy. As the cork came out with a satisfying pop, Sam poured a splash into two large Riedel wine glasses. Ideally she should have opened it to allow it to breathe, but tonight had already been far from ideal.
Sam sat on her stool and passed Ed a glass.
He took a small sip.
‘That’s delicious.’
Raising the glass to eye level, he stared into it, swirling the contents around. ‘Not what you’d get in our house, but I could get used to it. What is it?’
Sam explained to him her love affair with Burgundy wine, how she and Tristram had planned to spend a couple of weeks travelling through some of the vineyards in the region, hoping to visit the small commune of La Romanee in the Cotes de Nuits, watching the French world go by while they overindulged in both the red and white wines that had brought the region its reputation. She decided against telling him that this one bottle was in excess of £70, but she drank it because she liked it, not because she wanted to become a wine boor, telling everyone how expensive it was.
‘We’d have brought crates of it back with us, created a little bit of Burgundy on the North East Riviera,’ Sam said, grinning.
Ed raised his glass again. ‘A Gaelic toast. May the saddest day of your future be no worse than the happiest day of your past.’
‘I didn’t know you had Irish blood in you,’ Sam said, eyebrows arched and a smile parting her lips.
‘Of course,’ he said, holding the palms of his outstretched hands towards the ceiling. ‘The Whelans originate from Cork. Great place. I go back every couple of years or so. I’m sure we’ve family there but I haven’t tracked anyone down. Great-great-granddad came over to Liverpool as a young man looking for a better life, like so many of his generation. Never got further than Merseyside. Unbelievably, he became a cop. A uniform Inspector by the time he retired so I’m told.’
‘Fascinating. I’d like to go to over and see that area of Ireland at some time.’
‘You’ll need to learn to drink the black stuff,’ Ed warned with a grin. ‘I’m not sure you’ll get posh wine like this in the pubs I go to, although a roaring fire, a pint of Guinness, and some good ‘craic’ takes some beating.’
‘Sounds wonderful. But we’ll not be going anywhere until we sort this job out.’
‘We’ll catch him,’ Ed said, the smile suddenly gone. ‘It’s only a matter of time. And don’t worry about the likes of Smithies.’
Sam studied her wine.
‘It’s the time that bothers me. How many more rapes do there have to be before we get our hands on him? And you can’t stay here every night until we do.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Drinking this every night wouldn’t be too difficult.’
They both laughed, the mood lightened again but only for a moment.
‘We’ll get him Sam,’ Ed said. ‘The bastard’s days are numbered.’
It was Ed who burst the short bubble of reflective silence that followed.
‘So, where’d you learn all this stuff about rapists?’
‘Being a young widow’s not easy. I can’t just walk into a pub and sit at the end of a bar like you can. Well I could, but then you get all sorts hitting on you, and I can’t be bothered with that crap. All my non-job girlfriends are married, so if I go out to a pub with them, their husbands are convinced that I’m looking for a bloke and will therefore lead them astray. And I can’t go out with Bev Summers and Louise Smith all the time. You know what it’s like, what’ll be said at work, they’re my friends so that’s why they get the best jobs. It’s not fair on them.’
Sam took a sip of wine. ‘So I stay in. Most of the TV programmes aren’t for me. So I read. And listen to music. I’ve read all sorts of books on the subject. I find them fascinating. There are books written by British profilers and forensic psychologists but the data pool in America is so much bigger than here. And they’ve been doing it so much longer, so I read them.’
Ed had never really considered Sam’s private life but the snippets about being a widow had let him see very clearly her lonely existence outside the office.
‘And what about you?’ Sam asked. ‘Why did you have the longest career break in history?’
Ed offered up his glass for a refill.
‘Seems a lifetime ago now. I was a young detective when I met Sue. You know, living the life. Her father wanted, no, he insisted, insisted I work in his business. That was the deal if I wanted to marry her. Keep his daughter in the lifestyle she was accustomed to. A life a cop couldn’t fund, he said.’
‘What happened?’
‘Stuck it for 10 years. Walked out the day after his funeral. Let his sons get on with it. Rejoined.’
‘Any regrets?’
‘Yeah. I’d be retired now if I hadn’t met her!’
Sam laughed and reached for the bottle.
One further small glass of wine followed and their conversation was filled not by the man they were hunting but by bickering about who they felt were good superintendents, who were not, and when would Sam be ready for the next step, before the overwhelming need to sleep hit them both.
Sam threw a spare duvet and pillow down the stairs for Ed, who insisted he slept on the living room sofa. Both had forgotten to eat, and by the time they remembered, the need for sleep was greater than the need for food. Detectives often fed off nervous energy, invariably eating when they remembered they were hungry, and more importantly, when they had time.
Upstairs in the warmth of her bed, Sam lay in silence. As she closed her eyes, she imagined Ed walking into the room.
Thursday
Sam shuddered as she walked into the kitchen, already showered and dressed, and looked at the flowers on the bench, the ball on the floor.
They left the house together. Sam went straight to the office. She would arrange for a CSI to attend her home and have the ball forensically examined.
The chances of getting anything off the wet paper around the flowers were almost zero.
Ed stepped through his front door.
‘Sleep well, did you?’ Sue asked, standing at the bottom of the stairs, hands on hips, head tilted to one side.
‘Oh, spare me the dramatics. She can look after herself that one. And anyway, aren’t you the police? No uniforms who could have had a cosy night babysitting?’
‘You know there are no spare bodies for that.’
Ed moved forward and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘I was looking after a colleague. End of. I love you.’ He kissed the top of her head.
She shrugged him off and walked into the kitchen. He decided against asking for breakfast.
Lying in bed, arms behind his head, he stared at the ceiling, mentally running through his agenda. Concentration was difficult as he kept replaying the conversation with the detective. Her words, spoken in that sexy, husky voice, would live with him forever. He could imagine them doing many things, many times.
Jumping out of bed, he rushed into the en-suite bathroom, Sam Parker at the forefront of his mind. Staring into the toilet bowl, struggling to urinate, concentrating on her and not his bladder. He needed a trip to buy a new tracksuit and some condoms. Panicking at the thought of buying condoms, his flow of yellow urine spurted out before dripping on to the white toilet seat, the new drops joining the yellow stains from previous weeks. As he splashed cold water over his face, the word 'condom' was bouncing around his head on a pogo stick, screaming and flashing at him, making him retch. The word was mocking him. Why? Think. Think.
Holding on to the sink, staring into the mirror on the vanity unit, he began frantically searching his memory, writhing mental doors open, slamming them shut. His face was burning. His brain was in overdrive.
There was something else. He knew there was something else. Open the correct drawer. Condom. One small word. One small item. What’s its significance?
Beads of sweat sprung up on his forehead, like raindrops on a window. He found the correct drawer, and immediately rammed it shut. He refused to believe its message.
Had he burnt the condom wrapper after the attack on Amber? Not remembering wasn’t as devastating as not doing. He couldn’t remember burning it. Had he just forgotten? Surely he had. Was his memory toying with him? He was too careful. He must have burnt it because the alternative, the message from the mental filing cabinet, was too disastrous to contemplate. He had left it at her house. That was unthinkable and yet… he needed to satisfy himself, to be absolutely sure. He needed to know if she still had it. She hadn’t reported to the police, he knew that much. But would she meet him? He had to send her another text. He had to do it today.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ed walked into the office and Sam told him they had a meeting with the surveillance commander in two hours.
‘This has got to be spot on, Ed. No fuck-ups.’
Ed threw his jacket over the back of a chair and sat down. Not like Sam to swear. Pressure’s on.
Sam went on. ‘As soon as it’s sorted I want to go and see Amber and tell her what we need her to do. Then I want to go and see Celine. I also have to speak to Wright and tell him I want that estate flooding with uniform cops on foot and in cars on Friday and Saturday night. If anyone moves, I want them stopped, and at the slightest suspicion, I want them searched.’
Ed smiled. Wright was going to love this. Far from getting his staff back, ‘Never’ was now going to be told he would have to commit even more resources to the investigation.
‘Do you want me to speak to him? You’re going to run out of time,’ Ed offered.
‘Yeah, okay then. Can you tell him to sort out the operational order? Tell him I want to approve it before it’s circulated, and I want it spelled out in simple ‘Janet and John’ language so everyone knows exactly what’s expected of them. If the rapist’s out and about, I want him caught.’
Ed leaned back in the chair, concentrating on the instructions as Sam continued.
‘Terry Crowther? Do we know what he was doing when he was stopped on the day Amber was attacked?’
‘Yeah, we’ve spoken to the two young cops who stopped him. He was out for a jog. Out for a bloody jog! At half four in the morning! Jesus. And they didn’t think it was suspicious. Talk about not being able to detect a bad smell. They never searched him. Anyway, he was wearing a black tracksuit and a woollen hat.’
Sam’s eyebrows arched. ‘A woollen hat? Or maybe a rolled-up ski mask,’ she said.
‘They didn’t think there was anything unusual or suspicious about him, although they did wonder why he wasn’t breathing heavy as he said he’d been running for an hour. Not that they thought to ask. Muppets. Talk about coppers’ intuition. It’s a joke these days with some of them. They asked him why he was out so early in the morning and he told them he was at work at 7am. That’s obviously a lie. And before you ask, of course they didn’t ask him where he worked.’
Ed shook his head and continued. ‘Talk about just going through the motions. Do they want to catch shit bags? You know, too many these days just don’t care enough. Makes you wonder why they joined. Pick up their wages… anyway.’
Sam was also frustrated the uniforms hadn’t questioned Crowther much more thoroughly, but dwelling on it now wasn’t going to change anything.
‘Let’s think about it,’ she said. ‘We’ve enough to lock him up for the theft of the knickers in the swimming baths. We’ve also enough to lock him up on suspicion of the theft of knickers at Danielle’s. And he was out and about when Amber was attacked.’
Sam stood up and paced the room. ‘Let’s move the surveillance forward. I want it doing today. That way if he’s a no show, we can lock Crowther up at teatime when he’s going to work.’
She stared out of the window, her back to Ed. ‘Whatever happens, I want him locking up tonight. Get in touch with the surveillance commander. I want that meeting in 30 minutes. Everything else is on hold.’
She turned and sat down. ‘We’ll concentrate on the surveillance operation and Crowther. Have Jason draw up a suspect interview plan for Crowther.’
‘What about Jason? Do we still want him involved?’ Ed asked.
‘For now let’s just stick to the status quo. If we think that needs to be changed later, so be it. If he is our man, I don’t want to do anything that’ll give him any idea that we know. If he’s not, then we’ve kept a good cop on the investigation.’
Sam walked back to the window, lost for a moment in her own thoughts.
‘My view on him has changed, though,’ she said, breaking the short silence. ‘I’m calling him a good cop, but I don’t mean it.’
‘What do you mean?’ Ed asked.
Sam turned to face him. ‘I can’t look at him in the same light. He’s making my skin crawl. What if it was him on the phone to me?’
‘Oh, come on, Sam. It’s a bloody fantasy for God’s sake.’
Sam leaped forward, banged her fist on the table, and moved her head closer to Ed’s. ‘A bloody fantasy about rape!’
Ed slid his chair away from the table, stood up, placed his hands on the desk and leaned forward. Their noses were inches apart. ‘So, do you want to leave him on the investigation or not?’ he asked quietly.
They each held the other’s gaze.
Sam sat down, her voice now quiet and controlled. ‘He has to stay. If it’s him, I want him close. If it’s not him, then I don’t want to ruin his career. But when this job’s sorted, he’s off the team.’
‘What?’ Ed said, shooting up ramrod straight.
‘You heard. He’s gone. I’m not working with someone who likes to fantasise about rape.’
‘The clue’s in the name, Sam… fantasise.’
‘Yeah, and what else does he fantasise about? He’s off, Ed. No argument.’
Ed pointed the palms of both hands at Sam. ‘Okay. Okay. But think about what you’ve just said. That makes you as much of a manipulator as Stewart and Smithies. You’re better than that, Sam.’
She dropped her head.
Ed took two steps backwards. ‘I need to crack on. I’ll speak to Jason about the interview a
nd sort the surveillance commander. Jason’s future’s down to you.’
Time was against him, but he had to send a text to Amber. Retrieving the mobile from the tea caddy, he quickly typed out the message,
hi amber fancy that meet
He was so preoccupied with the wrapper, his forefinger was touching the ‘send button’ when his mind lurched back into the present and he remembered the police could probably locate mobiles. Could they find out where a mobile was when it had made a particular call or sent a particular text? If they could, he had almost brought them straight to his door. Dickhead! Careless! Stupid! Prisons are full of stupid people.
If he had left the condom wrapper at Amber’s, he needed to do what he could to get it back, or at least be certain she had got rid of it. He had potentially made a mistake. While he could try to rectify that mistake, he couldn’t eradicate it. To make another mistake would be a disaster. One gentle press from his index finger on the keypad could have sent him to prison. He needed to calm down, get back into planning mode, and he needed to do it now.
He would drive to another secluded spot before sending the text. He had never called or texted any of the victims from the same place, always making sure wherever he parked, CCTV cameras didn’t cover his car. If the police could triangulate the location of the phone, the first thing they would do would be to check for and view any CCTV. He didn’t want his car, or indeed himself, captured on a digital image.
He always drove at least 10 miles away from the last CCTV camera that he saw, to make it impossible for the police to put his car on a particular route, heading in a particular direction, and he never speeded. He wasn’t going to gift them his car, in a particular area, at a particular time, because he had been stupid enough to get a speeding ticket.
He wouldn’t stop the car to send the text, either. He would simply pick up the mobile and press the ‘send’ button. If he called a victim, he would always park up, not wanting a patrolling police officer pulling him over for using a mobile while he was driving. That would be another disaster. He was careful never to be parked long enough for anyone to see him, let alone later remember him or his car. The only exception was when he parked up outside Sam Parker’s home. He would like them to discover that he was outside her house.
Dark Tides Thrillers Box Set Page 17