Strangers

by Paul Finch

  Lucy had to concur. ‘I’m not sure how much McCracken’s firm will have guessed about the Intel Unit, ma’am … but they’ll almost certainly assume there are others out there like me.’

  ‘Especially if this kid, Tammy, tells them, eh?’

  ‘All Tammy can tell them, assuming they ask her, is that she first met me at the lorry park. She doesn’t know any more than that.’

  ‘Where’s Tammy now?’ Slater asked.

  ‘In hiding, I hope.’

  ‘You tipped her off?’ By her tone, Nehwal disapproved.

  ‘Of course I tipped her off.’ Lucy struggled to keep the heat out of her voice. ‘Ma’am, I had to. I mean we could put her into protection, but what could she give us in return? And how long could we keep her for? I mean, this is the Crew, who’ve supposedly got longer memories than the Foreign Legion …’ She left the point hanging.

  There was a brief silence as the three of them pondered the impasse.

  ‘Well … thanks for your input, PC Clayburn.’ Nehwal stood up.

  She flipped through the photos again, at some length, before laying them on Slater’s desk.

  And that’s it? Lucy thought. That’s all the reward I get … before you bin me back to Division? But of course she bit her tongue. She had no right to imagine she occupied the moral high ground here. She was deceiving her own bosses; not being straight with the people who were supposed to be on her side. Plus it was her own wretched mother who’d blown the gaff.

  But it still seemed unfair – that it should end like this. Not that Lucy didn’t have one or two items left in her armoury.

  ‘Ma’am, there’s something else,’ she said. ‘Something we could look into.’

  Nehwal, who’d been about to leave, glanced back.

  ‘Its unofficial title is the SugaBabes Taxi Service.’

  Nehwal gazed blankly at Slater, then back at Lucy. ‘Sorry, what’re you talking about?’

  ‘The normal form when punters turn up at SugaBabes is they have a drink and then they pair off with a girl or two, and eventually head upstairs. They settle their “bar-bill”, as they call it, before they go home. But one or two of them every night, they just sit at the bar and, half an hour later, this no-mark middle-manager called Marissa calls their names out. “Taxi’s here!” … and off they toddle. Only it’s not a real taxi. I looked through a gap in the back wall once, and it’s something like a limo.’

  Nehwal shrugged. ‘Makes sense. A comfy ride home. They pay enough to be there.’

  ‘No, ma’am. They’re given a blindfold to wear before they get into it. On top of that, Tammy warned me about this thing beforehand … not in any detail, but she said it was a more-than-touchy subject. Sounds like it’s bad news even to ask questions about it.’

  ‘A blindfold?’ Nehwal queried.

  ‘Yeah. But it’s worn voluntarily. It’s like they’re being taken somewhere they want to go, but part of the deal is they’re not supposed to know how to get there.’

  ‘And what do you think it is?’ Slater asked Lucy.

  ‘I don’t know, boss. And something tells me I should. Or at least that we should.’

  ‘You think some of the customers are looking for something a little different?’ he said.

  Lucy nodded. ‘What else?’

  ‘Well, it’s certainly interesting,’ Nehwal said thoughtfully. ‘But I don’t see how it’s relevant to our case.’

  ‘I’m not saying it is, ma’am,’ Lucy replied. ‘But if anyone ever fancies getting into the guts of the Crew … that might be a way.’

  ‘Getting into the guts of the Crew, eh?’ Nehwal smirked. ‘That’s one of those difficult areas, I’m afraid. For various reasons we don’t need to go into.’

  Lucy understood what she meant. It wasn’t always practical for police forces to confront organised crime head-on. Some syndicates, like the Crew, were legally elusive – it cost a lot to take them down, and then someone else, maybe someone worse, would only fill the void. In certain cases, it might even be desirable to keep them. They could have imposed a stranglehold on the local underworld that was beneficial to wider society rather than damaging. This definitely applied to the Crew, whose controlling presence had hugely reduced the gangland wars that had once devastated the north-west of England. Other crime groups might even cooperate with law enforcement at various levels, mainly to wipe out their competition but also to keep the police sweet – establishing a mutually advantageous relationship.

  But even if several of these criteria applied to the Crew, Lucy suspected there’d be someone somewhere in Britain’s legal establishment who was keen to put the knuckle on this remarkably powerful cartel, and in any case, she was damn sure there were some rackets so unsavoury that no civilised society would tolerate them.

  Almost as though she’d mind-read Lucy, Nehwal added: ‘However, I agree this is something we may want to look into. Not us personally … we have a murderer to catch. But there are others. Geoff, can you pass PC Clayburn’s intel on to someone who can process it and maybe take action accordingly, please?’

  ‘Course, ma’am.’

  Nehwal left the room, and Slater slumped back into his chair. He threw Lucy a raised eyebrow. ‘So … how do you think McCracken clocked you?’

  She shook her head, guilt again gnawing at her insides. ‘I thought with SugaBabes being in Cheetham Hill and me having spent my entire ten years in Crowley, that would be all the cover I needed. Seems I was wrong. Sorry about that, sir.’

  ‘Can’t be helped. Going to have to get the rest of the team in early today for a briefing.’

  ‘So are we all going back to Division?’ she wondered.

  He made a helpless gesture. ‘It’s always good to have spare bodies. But I can’t justify hanging onto you all when the Intel Unit’s been closed.’

  ‘We’re definitely closing it?’

  ‘Priya’s going to discuss it with Cavill. Until then I won’t have a clue. You look shot, by the way. Last night shook you up more than you’re letting on, I’m guessing?’

  Lucy half-smiled. ‘If I say “no, I’m tough as nails and don’t give a shit about idle threats from cheap gangsters” is that more likely to glue me to the enquiry?’

  Slater smiled back. ‘You know the way things stand. I agree, though. Going back to uniform now won’t be much return for your efforts. But things being as they are …’

  ‘Sir, you did say that you and DSU Nehwal might be able to get me back into CID.’

  ‘I also said we had to catch the killer first. And that seems farther away now than ever, don’t you agree?’ She had no option but to nod and shrug. ‘But as I say … this decision rests with their high and mightinesses. Until we hear something, you might as well get yourself a coffee, and get your statement sorted. I know you had a rough night so maybe have a shower too, try to relax a bit. Hopefully we’ll know something by three o’clock. We’ll set the briefing for then.’

  It was actually four in the afternoon before the briefing commenced, because it took Slater that long to drag everyone in. It gave Lucy more time, at least. As the DI had suggested, she completed her paperwork, got showered and finally, thankfully, found the time to change into some clean scruffs – jeans and a hoodie top – which she kept in her locker for just such an occasion.

  The briefing, when it finally went ahead, didn’t go quite as Lucy had anticipated, though the outcome was still far from ideal. Slater, who took charge of it alone, didn’t waste words on explanations, simply announcing that they’d been compromised, certain underworld figures having identified that female police officers were out on the streets, posing as prostitutes.

  ‘Firstly, all you CID officers,’ he said. ‘As from tomorrow, you’ll be re-attached to the main investigation team. Report for duty at eight. You ladies – you Ripper Chicks, as I know you’ve revelled in being called – we’ve reached the decision that it isn’t going to be sensible to cut you all loose from the enquiry. Several of you, eight in fact, ha
ve developed genuine suspicions about certain street-girls you’ve become aware of, so it would be lunacy to send you home now. That said, none of you are going back out there in the guise of prostitutes. Instead, you eight will be redeployed as undercover surveillance – in other words, you’ll join the TSG lads in unmarked cars and the backs of camper vans and the like, and you’ll watch your targets covertly, even following them when they drive off with their clients, on the off-chance you may need to intercept the killer while she’s actually in the act.’

  He read out a list of names, the eight women who were to be reassigned in this capacity. Inevitably, Lucy wasn’t one of them.

  ‘We’re also going to take some volunteers to perform the same duty,’ Slater added. ‘Another eight preferably.’

  Every girl in the room put her hand up. Slater studied them, his eyes finally coming to rest on Lucy. ‘Put your hand down, PC Clayburn. I’ll talk to you in my office afterwards.’

  Lucy lowered her arm. It was from the remainder that Slater selected his eight.

  ‘You ladies who are staying with us,’ he concluded, ‘go with DS Clark. She’ll give you the nuts and bolts of your new assignments, but duty calls … so shake your backsides.’

  With no need now to change from their casuals to their tarty street-gear, the new surveillance team trooped eagerly out, the girls chattering brightly, relieved they were no longer on the streets but glad they were still part of the enquiry.

  Slater turned to the others. ‘The rest of you … clear your desks and whatnot, and DS Bryant will sign you off. As from tomorrow morning, you’re back on Division. But in the meantime, if, say in twenty minutes, you’d all like to reconvene at the Aspinall Arms, we’ll have a goodbye drink together … and I’m buying.’

  The girls complied, heading out. Only Lucy remained in her seat. She was still there when the rest had gone. Slater beckoned to her as he headed into his office. She sloped in after him and stood stiffly as he sat at his desk.

  ‘I’d have done anything to keep you on board, Lucy,’ he said. ‘Firstly, because I think you’ve been a more-than-competent plain-clothes officer. In fact you were thrown in at the deep end, and you’ve been exceptional. Secondly, because I know how keen you are. You’ve put in some seriously long hours without any complaint. But the situation is that you’re too exposed. What happened with McCracken means that the Crew are very aware of you. We can’t possibly send you out in a similar capacity to last time.’ He gave her an apologetic smile. ‘I’m really sorry it’s ended this way, but looking on the bright side … you’ve got a stack of overtime out of it. You’ll probably be able to go on holiday or something, won’t you?’

  Lucy made no response.

  ‘And at the very least,’ he said, ‘I’m hoping you’ll pop round to the pub so I can buy you a drink.’

  ‘A drink?’ she replied slowly.

  ‘Yeah, you know … join the other girls.’

  ‘Seriously, sir? I was in that brothel fifteen days without any kind of cover. I was strip-searched twice a day, cavity-searched a couple of times. It was threatened I’d get my nose blowtorched off, constantly hinted to me I was about to get tried-out. And then I went and had my bloody home invaded! And in return I get one drink?’

  ‘Look, Lucy … it’s all about risk assessment.’

  ‘If I’m sat in an unmarked van, I’m not going to be any more at risk than the others.’

  Slater shrugged. ‘Who are you going to watch, Lucy? You had one suspect, and even if she is our girl – which she obviously isn’t – she’s not going to strike again now, knowing we’re sitting on her.’

  Lucy shook her head. Suddenly, it was a struggle to keep the tears in, which infuriated her as much as it shocked her – she couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually cried. Maybe it had never happened during her adult years. Until now.

  ‘Sir … I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.’

  ‘You’re going back to do your job. You’re a police officer, Lucy … no more, no less.’

  ‘And a fuck-up, yeah?’

  ‘What?’

  She opened his office door. ‘I finished Mandy Doyle’s career and now I’ve screwed up this job too! Is that what you’re bloody saying?’

  ‘You conceited little …’ Slater jumped to his feet. ‘Shut that damn door and sit down!’

  Grudgingly, Lucy obeyed.

  ‘What makes you think this is all about you?’ he demanded, lowering his voice.

  She so wanted to tell him at that moment. About her mother’s involvement. About how, having learned the things she’d learned, her role in this enquiry could never be less than personal. About how she had to participate for the sake of her own sanity, had to prove that she was on the right side. Of course, even if she did tell him, it wouldn’t work in her favour. Then he’d have no choice but to show her the door.

  ‘I just want to get into these people,’ she said, rather lamely.

  ‘Who?’ he asked.

  ‘The Crew.’

  ‘Why?’ He wasn’t scoffing; it was a genuine question. ‘Because they gave you a scare last night? Join the club. They scare me too. But in truth, they’ve done us a favour. We had a good suspect. But thanks to Frank McCracken – and I never thought I’d see the day when I was saying that – she’s now been dismissed from the enquiry. Now we concentrate on real possibilities. And anyway …’ He sat down again, heavily, tiredly, ‘what’s wrong with going back to uniform? You’re bloody good at it!’

  ‘Mickey Mouse stuff,’ she retorted.

  ‘Mickey Mouse! Last month you locked someone up for robbery and kidnapping. You want to know the last time I felt a collar that good?’

  ‘I got lucky, that’s all.’

  ‘We all need a bit of luck. Besides, even if you spent every day showing kids across the road, uniform’s still the most vital part of the job, and you know it.’

  Lucy knuckled the tears from her cheeks. Fleetingly, she was helpless. How could she articulate without sounding egocentric that what this was really about was proving herself at a higher level, was making up for what had happened last time – to herself if no one else?

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she muttered. ‘I’m just disappointed.’

  ‘I get that. You reporting back to Division tomorrow?’

  ‘Suppose so. My relief’s on lates.’

  ‘Well, you’re not.’ He scribbled something on a piece of paper. ‘Today’s Thursday. Go back on Monday. Until then, I’m writing you off sick.’

  Lucy felt a new sense of panic. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you’re stressed, and after what happened last night it’s hardly surprising.’

  ‘No disrespect, sir, but that’s even worse.’

  He glanced up, puzzled.

  ‘That’ll make it look like I’m wussing out! You know what they’ll say … typical bird, can’t handle the pressure.’

  ‘Give over,’ he said. ‘I know blokes who’ve been in this job twenty years who take every opportunity they can. I’ve seen ’em take a week because they’ve stubbed a toe.’

  ‘Yeah, but they’re blokes.’

  As soon as she left the office, Lucy regretted that final comment – mainly because it was cheap and unbecoming, and irrelevant to the issue at hand, but also because she found Priya Nehwal sorting through paperwork in the briefing room, and as the connecting door was only flimsy, the DSU had most likely heard everything that had just occurred.

  Without glancing round from the filing cabinet, Nehwal beckoned Lucy over.

  Lucy approached nervously.

  ‘Is this a common thing with you, PC Clayburn?’ The DSU slid the drawer closed. ‘Playing the gender card?’

  ‘No, ma’am.’

  ‘Until today, you mean?’

  ‘I didn’t mean it that way,’ Lucy said. ‘It’s just that I don’t want to look weak or incompetent. I’m neither of those things.’

  ‘Then take it on the chin.’ Nehwal regarded her carefully, wat
ching her every move and reaction. ‘If you think it’s hard to get on as a policewoman now, you should have tried it when I joined the job … when every day I paraded for duty and the section sergeant announced to the entire relief: “This morning’s big question is whether WPC Nehwal is wearing tights or stockings.” When my tutor constable would offer to take care of my paperwork for me if I spent half of each night-shift in the station kitchen making him a slap-up curry.’

  Lucy said nothing. She knew she’d had it relatively easy compared to previous generations of women who’d joined the police, but none of that was much consolation at present.

  ‘Now look … you’re in the job for the right reasons,’ Nehwal said in an easier tone. ‘You wouldn’t have lasted ten tough years if you weren’t. But don’t spoil all that now with this self-pity routine.’

  She handed Lucy a tissue. Lucy took it, shocked to realise that she was crying again.

  ‘It isn’t self-pity, ma’am. I just want to prove myself. I’m a copper. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be.’ She sniffled. ‘Shit … sorry, ma’am! This is all I bloody need.’

  ‘You clearly are upset after last night,’ Nehwal said. ‘However it actually went down, it’s had an effect on you. I’ve been in the job twenty years longer than you. I’ve seen every kind of PTS there is. You’re not exactly shaking like a leaf. But that’s because you’ve internalised it. And that’s never good. So let it out now while there’s no one else here. And don’t beat yourself up so much. It’s not like you haven’t contributed to this enquiry.’

  ‘All I managed to do was dismiss a suspect. Was it worth it?’

  ‘Depends how you look at it. You also got to know some of the worst villains in Manchester. And now they’ve got to know you. For a copper that’s not always a bad thing.’

  Lucy wasn’t completely sure whether she agreed, but she nodded anyway and after the DSU had left, went to her desk and locker and cleared them of the few bits and pieces they contained. The office phone then rang. Lucy had no option but to answer it.

  ‘Incident Room, Intelligence Unit.’

  ‘PC Clayburn, please,’ came a muffled male voice.