Bye Bye Baby

by McIntosh, Fiona

  ‘Don’t know them.’

  ‘You’re kidding, right?’

  ‘No.’ Sarah shrugged.

  ‘So after a long day, what do you tune out to?’

  ‘Mozart would be my first choice,’ came the reply, the tone superior.

  Kate didn’t react. ‘And if not Mozart? How about your choice in contemporary music? The Carpenters?’

  Sarah frowned, suggesting to Kate she didn’t know who The Carpenters were. Kate grimaced — even her sarcasm was lost on the DS.

  ‘I like Simply Red,’ Sarah offered.

  ‘Okay,’ Kate said, surprised. ‘I like Mick too.’

  ‘I like the old stuff best. These days he seems to just churn out covers of other old rockers.’

  ‘Yeah, what a rip-off,’ Kate said in spite of herself. ‘Harold Melvin and The Bluenotes, then The Stylistics.’

  ‘Not nearly as bad as stealing Bob Dylan’s song.’

  Kate nodded. ‘Not that I’m a Dylan fan, mind you. Aren’t you too young for such miserable music?’

  ‘No, I love Dylan, and I’ll admit Mick sang it well, but there are some songs that are sacred.’

  Kate grinned. ‘Like “Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Old Oak Tree”?’

  Sarah winced as she laughed. ‘Where did you drag that up from?’

  Ah, so she did have a sense of humour. Taking advantage of the lighter mood, Kate attempted to clear the air. ‘Look, I was embarrassed upstairs by what the chief said to us both. I hope you don’t think I’d ever undermine anything you do.’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t think that, and he was suggesting I’m as much at fault, so I should be apologising too.’

  ‘I know you’re ambitious, and I know you’re damn good at your job, so . . .’ Kate shrugged, not sure what she was trying to say. ‘So if I can help, just ask, okay?’

  Sarah nodded. ‘I will. Thanks.’

  Kate hummed to the soundtrack as she negotiated her way through the London traffic, searching for every opening that would get her a moment faster onto the A23 to Brighton.

  ‘I don’t listen to Mozart and I do know who U2 is, by the way,’ Sarah admitted. ‘Sometimes it helps to play dumb. People expect less of you, pigeonhole you.’

  Kate glanced at her, surprised. ‘And that’s good?’

  ‘Yep, especially when you surprise them.’

  ‘Very cunning.’

  ‘We’re still very much in a man’s world, don’t you think, Kate?’

  ‘At the Yard, you mean?’ Sarah nodded. ‘I want to be the youngest female DCI at NSY.’

  ‘After me, you mean?’

  Sarah grinned. ‘After me, you can go first.’

  Kate replayed it in her mind, frowning, then nodded. ‘Clever.’

  ‘That was my Uncle Cecil’s favourite saying.’

  ‘I like Uncle Cec.’

  The traffic thinned as they got closer to the feeders that would take them on to the road to Brighton.

  ‘Truce?’ Kate said into the silence.

  ‘We were never at war, but yes, of course.’

  Kate relaxed. She’d done what Jack expected of her.

  ‘So what’s the plan?’ Sarah asked after a few minutes of far more comfortable silence between them.

  ‘I’m seeing Clive Farrow’s old schoolteacher at twelve. Fingers crossed, she’s going to identify Billy Fletcher in our foursome photo. Perhaps even give us the name of the fourth boy.’

  ‘Is Fletcher our next victim, do you think?’

  ‘It’s still too early to say, and certainly too soon to alarm him until we know more, but yes, I think it’s likely that within the next forty-eight hours we’ll be putting Fletcher under close security. What time’s your appointment?’

  ‘Sergeant Moss said I could come any time, that he’d be in all day.’ She looked at her watch. ‘We’re cutting it a bit fine to drop me in Brighton and for you to get back to Hurstpierpoint, wherever that is.’

  ‘It’s in rural Sussex.’

  ‘How long will it take to get there?’

  ‘From Brighton about half an hour or so.’

  ‘Just drop me near a station. Really. The Brighton line is direct and I can hop into a taxi at the other end.’

  Kate thought about it. It was very tempting. She really didn’t want to be late for the prickly Mrs Truro. ‘I’ve got a better idea,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you come with me to Hurstpierpoint? I’ll only need five minutes with the old schoolmarm, I promise. Then I can drive you to Brighton for your appointment.’

  ‘That sounds very workable . . . it’s also kind.’

  ‘I’m not all bad, you know.’

  An awkward pause ensued and it was Sarah, surprisingly, who broke it. ‘I think I’m jealous of you. There, I’ve said it.’ She looked down, fiddled nervously with the coat in her lap.

  Kate politely feigned surprise. ‘Jealous?’

  ‘Don’t ask why, Kate, you already know.’

  Kate did. She would be treating Sarah badly if she pretended not to. ‘Sarah, I can’t help the way I look. Well, that’s a lie. I do help the way I look — I work on it — but I can’t help what the cards dealt me, if you get my drift.’

  ‘I know. My feelings are irrational and pointless.’

  ‘Not pointless,’ Kate said, turning her head hard right to see oncoming traffic. ‘Bugger, hang on.’ She held her nerve and swung out into it. ‘Sorry, they’re not pointless — why don’t you do something about it?’

  ‘Like what?’

  Kate wanted to say, ‘Like everything’, but instead she said, ‘Whatever you want to improve. You can change anything. Start with clothes. It’s easy and painless, other than to your wallet.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know where to begin,’ Sarah said, huffing theatrically.

  Kate smiled. Sarah was showing a decidedly different side. ‘You’re funny when you want to be.’

  ‘It’s a defence mechanism.’

  ‘It’s good. Use it more. Let the guys around the office hear it — they’ll appreciate it. It’s a really handy weapon. And it shows you have personality, whether or not you want them to explore that. Blokes hate wishy-washy women. And wit can cut as well as amuse. It’ll stop them using you as a doormat.’

  ‘DCI Hawksworth never makes me feel like a doormat.’

  ‘No, but he’s something of an exception. So, no man in your life?’ Kate asked brightly.

  ‘No. Don’t need one.’

  Her comment was met by a look of incredulity. ‘You don’t have to need one to want one,’ Kate said.

  ‘And I don’t have to want one because you think I need one.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘I mean that having a man simply to make me feel like I’m normal is unnecessary. I don’t need someone to take out the rubbish, fight off spiders or keep me warm at night.’

  Kate shook her head in wonder. ‘And what about love, Sarah?’

  ‘Well, that’s different. I’ve never experienced it. Have you?’

  Now Kate flicked her a sharp glance. ‘I’m engaged, or hadn’t you noticed?’

  ‘Do you love him though? Really love him?’

  Kate hesitated as the other night’s cutting words from Dan returned. ‘I . . . I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Well, I believe in heart-stopping love at first sight. If I can’t find the man that does that to me, I’m not prepared to settle for second best. Listening to your hesitation, apparently you can.’

  ‘Fuck you!’ Kate said, shocked at her colleague’s bluntness. ‘What would you know about it?’

  Sarah shrugged again. ‘Nothing. I know nothing about love, as I said. Until it happens I won’t know the joy or pain of it. I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t have said what I did. I’m not very good in conversation as you can see. I’m far too honest. That’s why I work hard to keep my mouth shut at work, only speak when I’m spoken to.’

  ‘No! Sorry won’t do. That was really vicious.’

  ‘Well, you never talk
about your fiance, Kate. It strikes me that someone who’s in love and about to be married usually talks about little else.’

  ‘So what if I don’t want to be boring?’ Kate realised her voice was raised and brought it under control. ‘What if I want to be professional and separate my private life from work?’

  ‘It’s just that you never mention him. And when I asked you if you loved him, you struggled to answer.’

  ‘I didn’t struggle.’ Kate hated to hear herself sound so defensive.

  ‘You didn’t answer.’

  ‘What is this — the third sodding degree?’

  Sarah didn’t reply, but undid the window to let in some freezing air.

  ‘Blimey!’ Kate said ‘You try and help someone, try and do the right thing, and you —’

  Sarah swung back. ‘This has got nothing to do with helping me, Kate. This has everything to do with being seen to be doing the right thing. DCI Hawksworth said jump and that’s what you’re doing.’

  ‘He is our boss, or hadn’t you noticed?’

  Sarah wound the window back up. ‘I just don’t want you kidding yourself that you’re extending the hand of friendship. You’re simply following orders.’

  Her words stung. ‘It’s what I do, Sarah. I follow orders. He wants us to get on and I want to be able to look him in the eye and say I did my best. Pity about DS Jones and the chip on her shoulder, though.’

  ‘What chip?’ It was Sarah’s turn to be defensive.

  ‘I don’t want to talk about this any more. I’ll drop you off at Hassocks Station and you can find your own way to Brighton.’

  ‘The DCI said to drop me in Brighton.’

  ‘I don’t care what he said.’

  ‘So you don’t follow orders then? You’re selective about what you do and don’t do, depending on how it makes you look. I’ve heard that termed as shallow.’

  Kate wasn’t going to take this any more. She checked her mirrors, screeched into the left lane and pulled in at the next lay-by. ‘Look, what is your problem, Detective Sergeant?’ she demanded, glaring at her passenger.

  The wind seemed to go out of Sarah’s sails.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I’m very much out of my comfort zone. I’m probably best left behind the computer, digging through data. DCI Hawksworth’s got me all wound up, making me believe I’m capable of anything, but I’m really a behind-the-scenes person.’

  ‘How does that justify attacking me?’

  ‘You attack me every day.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m plain and I accept it, but I’m not stupid. I see your sneers and glances. I miss very little because, you see, what I don’t have in looks, I make up for in brains.’

  ‘Modest too,’ Kate snapped.

  Sarah pulled an expression suggesting she didn’t care. ‘I’m clever and I’m also honest. I’ve never much worried about being popular.’

  ‘That’s obvious.’

  ‘You, on the other hand, desperately want to be noticed . . . especially by DCI Hawksworth.’

  Kate sneered, horrified that she was so transparent. ‘I think your radar is off beam and I resent what you’re implying.’

  ‘I’m not implying anything. I’m saying it. I told you, I’m always honest.’

  Kate wanted to pull rank but was too unnerved by the DS’s accuracy regarding her own attitude to Jack. Instead, she looked at Sarah with a wounded expression. ‘What do you hope to gain by this? You reckon it looks good to be arguing with a senior officer?’

  ‘I didn’t start an argument. I simply asked you a question and then answered a few. It’s not my fault if I’ve hit an artery and you’re haemorrhaging.’

  ‘Alright!’ Kate shouted, derailed by her colleague’s far cooler demeanour. ‘I don’t know how I feel about Dan. Okay? We’re getting married in a few months and suddenly I don’t know if I want to go ahead but I feel like I’m in too deep. I have to marry him because I don’t know what to say that could stop it without causing too much pain. Dan and I have been together for years. My family loves him and his family loves me. Dan’s sweet, he’s kind, he’s . . .’ She shook her head miserably, searching for what to say next.

  ‘Not Jack Hawksworth?’ Sarah offered carefully.

  Kate’s voice sounded like ice when it came. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

  Sarah didn’t flinch. ‘Your problem with Dan is DCI Hawksworth.’

  Kate prided herself on being strong emotionally, but tears came now. No sobbing or heaving, just heavy tears rolling down her cheeks as she desperately tried to find something biting to say to Sarah. But nothing came because nothing ever hurt more than the truth. And Sarah’s barb had gone straight to the heart of the matter.

  Sarah looked mortified. ‘Oh, DI Carter . . . Kate, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘No, you’re not, and don’t be,’ Kate said grabbing hopefully for tissues from her pocket. She found none and reached for her bag instead. ‘This whole wedding thing is making me emotional.’

  Sarah gave a soft sigh. ‘I didn’t mean it.’

  ‘Yeah, you did.’ Kate gave a mirthless laugh. ‘And the worst part is, you’re right. Well, not completely, but you’re on the right track. I don’t feel that Dan and I are good together any longer. DCI Hawksworth, if you must know, is more the type I think would suit me.’

  ‘What type is that?’

  ‘Oh, you know . . .’

  ‘Tall, dark and handsome?’

  ‘Shut up.’ Sarah apologised with a shrug. ‘Hawksworth’s character,’ Kate went on, ‘his whole persona highlights for me what I’m looking for in a man.’

  ‘So the chief ‘s inadvertently done you a favour — preventing you from a marriage that’s bound to fail because you’re not going into it wholeheartedly. There’s nothing wrong in that. It’s honest.’

  Kate stared out at the road, unable to respond for a few moments.

  ‘Until this moment, I hadn’t been able to crystallise my thoughts,’ she said eventually, ‘but thank you, Sarah, for being a total bitch and helping me to see my way more clearly.’

  ‘Don’t mention it. I told you: blogsy but bright.’

  Kate sniffed. ‘Well, it’s up to you. You can change the blogsy bit. Go out and buy yourself something that smacks vaguely of slutty — something low cut, red perhaps.’

  ‘I could never wear anything that vulgar.’

  ‘Well, you wear that anorak.’

  And both of them burst into laughter.

  ‘Friends?’ Sarah offered, clearly keen to build some bridges. She held out her hand now.

  Kate nodded. ‘Let’s start again.’ They shook on it. ‘I hope I can trust you, DS Jones.’

  ‘You can. Blogsy, smart, vulgar anorak and takes secrets to the grave, I promise.’

  ‘Good, because I need to work out the Dan thing without it being complicated by work gossip.’

  ‘I don’t do gossip — you should know that by now. I hope you sort it out soon. It wouldn’t be fair to break his heart at the altar.’

  Kate sighed and glanced quickly at her face in the mirror before readjusting it to see the traffic. She indicated and merged into the lane. ‘Come on, Jones, enough melodrama. We’ve got a killer to catch.’

  17

  ‘Mrs Truro? I’m DI Kate Carter, and this is DS Jones.’

  ‘Do come in,’ Eva Truro offered, stepping back from the door of her neat home with its tidy front garden of pruned rose bushes. ‘Can I get you ladies something?’

  ‘No, thanks,’ they said in chorus as they entered her sitting room. It smelled of potpourri and furniture polish.

  Kate smiled. ‘We’ve got another appointment in Brighton and I think you’ve got a lunch to get to, haven’t you? We mustn’t hold you up.’

  The former teacher nodded. ‘Please, sit down.’

  The two detectives perched themselves side by side on a two-seater sofa with a busy pattern of cabbage roses. Eva Truro did not sit but stared down at them fro
m on high through her bifocals. Kate opened the folder she’d brought and took out a photocopy of the photograph of the four smiling teenagers. She handed it to Mrs Truro, who suddenly looked every bit the formidable teacher she had once been.

  ‘I need to know who you recognise in this phograph, Mrs Truro.’

  ‘Ah, yes, let me see.’

  Kate and Sarah held their breath while the older woman frowned thoughtfully at the piece of paper and held it up to the light.

  ‘I recognise only two,’ she began, ‘although this one looks a bit familiar for some reason, but then it was three decades ago . . .’ She trailed off.

  Kate sat forward. ‘Which two can you identify?’

  Eva Truro moved to stand alongside the sofa. ‘This one,’ she said, pointing. ‘That’s Clive Farrow. And this,’ her finger slid over to the third boy in the picture, ‘is Billy Fletcher. Good-looking, isn’t he?’

  Kate stole a glance at Sarah. They’d got what they came for.

  ‘And you’re absolutely sure?’ she said to the teacher. ‘I’m sorry, I have to ask you that.’

  ‘Of course I’m sure, DI Carter. I don’t forget faces, which is why this smaller, more baby-faced fellow troubles me. I could swear I’ve seen him — and if I’m honest, even this boy here,’ she pointed to Sheriff, ‘is vaguely familiar, but I’m sure he didn’t go to our school.’

  ‘We’re very pleased to have Billy identified, Mrs Truro, and grateful to you for your help and time,’ Kate reassured. ‘I’ll give you my card.’

  She dug into her wallet and found one, annoyed that it looked a fraction dog-eared. She noticed how their prim host greeted it with a soft look of disapproval.

  ‘Call me any time,’ Kate continued, ‘and especially if you can remember anything about this third boy, the smallish one.’

  ‘Is he important?’ Mrs Truro smoothed out the edges of Kate’s card as she spoke.

  Kate couldn’t lie. ‘Well, of these four, two are already dead. This is Michael Sheriff,’ she said, pointing to the boy next to Clive. ‘It’s very possible that Billy and this fourth person you think you recognise could be under some threat.’