Faceless

by Rob Ashman

  ‘Oh, err, DI Kray, I mean Roz. How are you?’

  ‘You said you would give me a call when you were free?’

  ‘Err yeah, I’ve been busy.’

  ‘Are you too busy now?’

  ‘Umm yes, I have to go to a meeting. So, if you don’t mind …’ He rose from his chair stuffing papers into his bag while fiddling with the mouse to save his work.

  Kray reached into her inside pocket and brought out her mobile. She hit some buttons, pressed speaker phone and placed it on the desk. The sound of the ring tone filled the small office.

  ‘Yes, Roz?’ It was Tavener.

  ‘Can you send a squad car to the front of reception at the hospital.’

  ‘Sure, right away.’

  Aldridge stopped and stared at Kray with his mouth gaping open.

  ‘I need to bring Aldridge in for questioning in relation to the Madeline Eve and Lucy Frost murders.’

  ‘This is outrageous!’ Aldridge exploded.

  Kray reached forward and pressed the mute button. ‘Do you mind keeping it down, can’t you see I’m on the phone?’ She re-pressed the button. ‘Quick as you can.’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ said Aldridge holding up both hands in a sign of surrender.

  ‘Tavener? Cancel that.’

  ‘Will do, Roz.’

  She clicked the off button.

  ‘So now do I have your attention?’

  ‘I will be making a formal complaint to your superior.’ Aldridge was brimming with indignation.

  ‘Well, the way this week is panning out, you’ll have to get in the queue.’

  ‘You are over-stepping the mark, Detective. I will have you know—’

  ‘It’s Detective Inspector, now sit down and talk to me about Suprane.’

  Aldridge was weighing up his options; should he continue with ‘what he would have her know’ or do as he was told. He sat back in his seat and did as he was told.

  ‘We have no use for Suprane down here for obvious reasons, but they do in the operating theatres. It comes in via a number of different suppliers, is held in a central store and allocated depending on demand.’

  ‘How is the stock controlled?’

  ‘The same as any other drug held at the hospital.’

  ‘Show me.’

  Aldridge went to protest and Kray held up her mobile.

  ‘Follow me.’ He scuffed his chair along the floor as he shoved it backwards, stomping out of the office. Kray hurried along close behind, his long legs causing her some difficulties in keeping up.

  ‘This is stupid,’ he said over his shoulder.

  ‘As far as we can determine Suprane is not finding its way onto the streets. This hospital is the only source in the immediate area.’

  ‘Bloody ridiculous,’ was all Aldridge had to say on the matter.

  Soon they arrived at what looked like a giant pharmacy. The main thing that distinguished it from anything on the high street was the counter to ceiling Perspex glass and steel meshing.

  A woman in her mid-forties with bright eyes and long hair pulled into a ponytail sat behind a gap in the security screen. Her name badge read ‘Mandy Hawthorn’. Aldridge pointed at her and huffed his displeasure.

  ‘Ask away.’

  Kray flashed her warrant card. ‘Could you help by answering a couple of questions relating to the way you control the stock of Suprane?’

  ‘Of course.’ She hit a button and the door in the corner buzzed open. Kray nodded for Aldridge to go first.

  ‘It’s pretty standard stuff,’ Mandy said. ‘We get deliveries from suppliers which we draw upon depending on usage. When the stock reduces to a certain level, the system automatically triggers another order. BanKan or something it’s called, we went on a course about it.’

  ‘How do you reconcile the stock?’

  ‘We kind of do a mass balance. We know how much comes in over the month from the delivery dockets and we know our opening level of stock. The demand is deducted and on a monthly basis we do a physical stock check. It’s always right, everything balances. Take a look …’

  Mandy opened up another window on her screen.

  ‘The dockets are scanned into the system - here is one. This is the stock record showing the daily usage and at month end we check everything. I hate doing the monthly stock take, it’s a pain in the—’

  ‘Can you go back?’ Kray interrupted, spinning the gold band round and round on her finger.

  ‘To where?’

  ‘The docket, can you pull up the docket again?’

  The delivery note flashed onto the screen.

  ‘What is this?’ Kray pointed to a row of figures where the number had been crossed out and a handwritten figure scribbled in its place.

  ‘Oh, that’s a manual adjustment.’

  ‘How does that work?’

  ‘Occasionally we order a certain quantity and the supplier confirms the order. But come the day of delivery the company does not have sufficient product to fulfil the order. But the paperwork has already been produced. So, they change it, and we work off the amended figure. It all adds up at the end of the month.’

  ‘Thank you for taking me through that, I appreciate your time,’ Kray said. ‘One last question: have you ever had a stock discrepancy with Suprane?’

  The woman shook her head. ‘No never, and I’ve been working in here for three years.’

  ‘Seen enough? Because I’ve got work to do,’ Aldridge barked at Kray, marching out of the door.

  She let him go and stared at the docket on the screen.

  The gold band went round and round.

  36

  ‘It’s black.’ Tavener entered the incident room.

  ‘What is?’ Kray said while doodling on a scrap of paper. The office was deserted.

  He slapped a photocopy down on the table in front of her. ‘The dress that’s missing, it’s black.’

  Kray looked at a medley of three pictures, each one showing Lucy Frost with a gaggle of friends. One was in a bar, another in a club and the other around the table in a restaurant. In each case she was wearing a black dress with three quarter length sleeves and a scooped neckline.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, these pictures are from her Facebook page all taken within the last four months. This dress is not in the clothing inventory.’

  Kray held the sheet of paper in her hand, staring at the happy face of Lucy Frost.

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ said Tavener pulling up the chair next to her. Kray looked away. ‘I know what you’re thinking and it’s not your fault.’

  ‘Then why does it feel like it is?’

  ‘Because you care, Roz, everyone cares.’

  ‘But not everyone had the responsibility to keep Lucy safe.’

  ‘And you did, while she was at work. You cannot hold yourself responsible for what happened.’

  ‘Hey it’s me that should be doing the counselling, not the other way around.’

  ‘When Wacko gave this case to Brownlow the whole station thought he needed his fucking bumps feeling.’

  ‘Hey, that’s DCI Jackson to you.’

  ‘Okay, everyone thought DCI Jackson needed his fucking bumps feeling.’

  Kray stifled a laugh.

  ‘You are the best DI in the place. It’s a privilege to work with you, Lucy thought it was a privilege. You will catch this fucker.’

  ‘Yes Duncan, we will.’

  Their tender moment was interrupted by a horde of noisy coppers entering the room. Kray looked at her watch, it said 4.45pm. Wash-up time.

  People took their seats, unpacking bags and pulling out notebooks. Kray made her way to the front.

  ‘Thank you for being prompt. I want to touch base on how your inquiries have gone and set the stall out for the remainder of today and tomorrow. Let’s start with—’

  She got no further. Everyone in the room rose to their feet as Jackson walked in, followed by the Chief.

  I’m on parade.

 
I am tripping out on endorphins and dopamine. Those people who shoot chemicals into their veins or powder up their nose should try this, at least once.

  Lucy Frost was a perfect choice, made even more so when I discovered she was a copper. I can only imagine the mayhem taking place right now in the police station and it’s about to get worse. Much worse.

  My high heels click on the concrete as I walk along the Promenade. The sea breeze feels surprisingly warm as it hugs around me, pressing my newly acquired little black number into every contour of my body. It’s a gorgeous dress, fits me perfectly.

  It’s early. When I parked up the clock on the dashboard read 4.50pm. No taxi for me today, I might need to make a sharp exit. Consequently, there are no groups of men to ogle me as I make my way along the Prom, no turning heads as I sway my hips, no cat calls to raise my pulse. But that doesn’t matter. This is a high octane walk if ever there was one.

  The police must be out looking for me. They must have joined the dots up by now. My assumption is they will be looking for somebody who looks like Lucy, wearing her stolen dress and posing for the CCTV cameras. I am assuming they will have circulated photographs of her to the bars and clubs. At least I hope they have, or all this will be for nothing. It’s time to shock.

  My favourite bar comes into view as I round the corner. The door staff don’t come on duty until six so I will have to open the door for myself. There will be no beefy doormen in tight T-shirts to rub themselves against me as I squeeze past. Oh well, a girl can’t have everything.

  The traffic along the seafront is heavy. I smile as male drivers crane their necks to get a better look. The ones travelling on their own are blatant, twisting their heads around for a good eyeful. Those driving with the wife and kids in the car give a short sharp glance, as if checking for traffic, but I know they are checking me out.

  I push against the glass door to the Purple Parrot and step inside. Bouncers are trained to notice things that might cause a danger to patrons and letting a killer into the premises would definitely fall into that category. Bar staff on the other hand want to serve drinks and get through their shift without being yelled at or covered in beer. They are less likely to hit the alarm bell.

  The bar is half full. The clientele is mostly families resting their aching feet and refuelling with wine, beer and soft drinks. The music is more subtle than in the evenings, when you cannot hear the person right next to you. That will all change later.

  I settle myself at the bar and order a large wine. The young woman hardly notices me as I hand over the cash. The table I want is unoccupied and I make my move. The last time I was here I had that beautiful looking man pushing his hard body into mine as we squashed ourselves together. He was lovely. I so enjoyed caving his head in.

  I place my bag on the table and slide onto the high stool. My heart is bursting through my chest and I can feel the blood pulsing in my temples. Three minutes. I’ve given myself three minutes.

  My eyes are everywhere. Checking out the faces of the bar staff for the faintest hint of recognition. Somewhere in this building is a photograph of my face with the strict instructions not to approach me.

  I pick up the glass and hold it in mid-air as if I’m about to take a sip. But I lift my face and look directly down the lens of the CCTV camera perched high in the corner and tip the glass in a silent toast.

  The seconds are ticking away. A minute and a half to go.

  I scan the faces of the bar staff once more – nothing. No one is taking the slightest interest in me. A gang of lads barge in, much the worse for an afternoon on the beer. The noise levels rise as they fight their way to the bar. I can see fathers telling their kids to drink up, looks like family time is over. One of the group looks over to me.

  ‘You alright, darling?’ he shouts and sways against his mates. ‘Where’s your boyfriend?’

  I’m thrilled with the attention. It’s about time.

  ‘Fancy another drink?’ his friend calls out as he props himself against the others.

  I shake my head and smile. My heart is racing. If the bar staff hadn’t noticed me before, they have now.

  The minute hand on my watch says there’s fifteen seconds to go. Maybe it’s because of the renewed attention but a couple of the bar staff are looking over at me. Or are they? My senses are running riot. One young woman is definitely stealing furtive glances in my direction as she puts pint glasses onto a shelf.

  Five seconds to go.

  The guys are eyeing me up: a pretty, lone female drinking in a pub on her own has got to be worth a crack. Three, two, one – I ease myself off the stool, take my bag in one hand and the wine in the other and head off to the toilets.

  Through the door and down a set of stairs. I toss a coin in my head and choose the gents. I push open the door, the room is empty. I hurry into one of the cubicles and lock it behind me.

  My hands are shaking. I can’t control the adrenaline surging through my body.

  I fumble with the bag.

  The zip won’t open.

  Why won’t the fucking zip open?

  37

  ‘Please sit,’ the Chief said striding to the front. ‘Afternoon Roz, good afternoon, everyone.’

  ‘Afternoon, sir,’ the group replied in unison.

  ‘Sorry to disturb your briefing Roz, would it be okay for me to say a few words?’

  Kray liked the Chief. He was in his late forties with silver hair and the demeanour of an overseas diplomat rather than a copper. During her rehabilitation he had been a constant support, often dropping in on her to see how she was progressing. Kray liked the Chief a lot. The room fell silent.

  ‘This is a particularly difficult and challenging time for us all. We deal with callous and cruel acts every day we come to work, but when those acts are targeted towards one of our own, it is hard to endure. But as much as we feel that pain it is nothing compared to the agony of Mr and Mrs Frost, Lucy’s parents, and her brother James. We have just returned from meeting with the family and they are devastated.’

  The Chief gave a speech that touched each and every one of the team. No one was left in any doubt about how proud the family were of Lucy Frost and how it was everyone’s duty to keep focussed and bring this evil bastard to justice. The Chief then handed over to DCI Jackson.

  Jacko did not possess the same magical eloquence as the Chief.

  What the fuck is he going on about?

  Kray watched the clock on the wall tick its way past 5.15pm. Jacko was delivering something that was less like a pep talk and more like a pulpit sermon. There was an ominous shuffling of paper and checking of mobiles under desks.

  ‘Quality policing is about quality people,’ he droned on. ‘This investigation team will win in the end because, to quote Aristotle, the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.’

  He’s fucking lost me now. Kray wanted the fire alarm to go off to bring this torture to an end. Instead, the phone rang. No one moved. Tavener held up his hand. ‘Sorry I have to get that.’

  Jackson looked put out at being interrupted mid flow. He stopped his inane wittering and waited, tapping his foot.

  ‘Hello Detective Tavener, how can I help you?’ The voice on the other end sounded slow and deliberate. ‘Okay, and when was this?’ He reached for a pen and paper. ‘Do you have security on the door?’ There was a pause. ‘We’ll be there right away.’

  Tavener put down the phone and Jackson saw that as his cue to begin talking again.

  ‘So to quote Aristotle—’

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ he interrupted, ‘we’ve got a sighting of Lucy Frost.’

  Why won’t this fucking zip open?

  My fingers grapple with the tag but it won’t budge. Boiling panic consumes me. I hear the outside door bang against the wall and rowdy conversation echoes off the walls.

  ‘That’s the trouble when you break the seal, I’m going to piss like a race horse every twenty minutes now.’

  ‘Did you clock the totty sitting at tha
t table? Man that was nice. Did you see where she went?’

  ‘You got no chance my son. Not with the size of that thing anyway.’ The place erupted into gales of laughter.

  ‘I’m cold, okay?’

  ‘You must be fucking Baltic mate with a stub end like that.’ More raucous laughter filled the air.

  I am sitting on the toilet with the bag clamped tight between my knees. I yank with all my might at the zip and the tag breaks off.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  The commotion on the other side of the door continues, but I’m not listening. I force my finger into the gap between the zipper and the material and pull. The plastic teeth shred themselves apart and the bag opens up. I am freaking out – the clock is ticking.

  I unpack the bag, laying items onto the seat and hanging clothes on the back of the door. I feel sick. My hands won’t do what my head is telling them to do. I hear the door bang against the wall and the sound of disappearing voices as the men troop back to the bar. I’m alone once more.

  I tear at the clips anchoring the wig in place and fumble my way out of the dress. My shoes are kicked to one side and I squeeze make-up remover onto a pad. I scrub my face, looking into a small compact mirror. I’m drowning in my own panic. My breathing is short and sharp. I feel light-headed.

  I stuff the dress, wig and shoes into the bag and try to steady myself. I fiddle with the bra clasp and it springs free.

  ‘I have time,’ I whisper to myself over and over, ‘I have time’.

  My lungs are burning.

  I step into the jeans and force my feet into trainers. The T-shirt slips over my head. I am nearly there …

  There was a moment of hesitation, then the whole station burst into action. Coppers raced down the stairs to get into patrol cars, not waiting for the lift. The building evacuated faster than the end of shift on Christmas Eve. Kray flew into the driver’s seat and was already pulling away when Tavener hurled himself in beside her.

  ‘Purple Parrot, go down Gladstone Street to avoid the congestion on the Prom,’ he ordered, but Kray wasn’t listening. She already had her preferred route and it was a shit load faster than Gladstone Street.