Team Spirit (Special Crime Unit Book 1)

by Ian Mayfield

  ‘Yeah, probably,’ Kim frowned. ‘I mean we pulled out of there like a week ago.’

  The matter closed, silence fell again and they travelled on.

  It was difficult to know what was meant to happen next. Jeff withdrew despondently and was about to get out of bed when Jasmin’s arm closed round him with the secure grip of a grappling hook. He lay down again and she nestled, head on his shoulder, warm body tight against his side.

  ‘In my bag there are tissues,’ she said, stroking his torso with a velvet-clad arm. ‘So clean up a bit, huh? And we’ll begin again.’

  Hardly daring to believe what he’d heard he leaned out of bed for her handbag. He sat up and allowed her to remove the condom and wipe away the residue. His pleasurable moan wavered, like a distorted sound effect, and he closed his eyes, feeling the red rising on his cheeks.

  ‘Huh?’ Her breasts swayed as she leaned over, taunting him.

  ‘I’ve got no more condoms.’ Fuck! Where on earth had he got the idea it wasn’t classy to carry more than one?

  ‘Don’t worry.’ She bowed down and, to his astonishment, kissed him softly on the tip of his dwindling penis. His stomach somersaulted. Smiling, she glanced up. ‘I am on the pill.’

  He frowned. ‘Hardly the point.’

  ‘Is it a problem?’

  ‘Not for me,’ he shrugged. ‘Got tested a year or so back. Druggie stabbed me in the neck with a needle. All clear though.’ He was babbling, and willed himself to shut up.

  ‘I also. So I trust you.’ Another smile, then she drew towards him again and kissed him in several places.

  He closed his eyes, surprised to feel himself respond so quickly. The climax had released tension, but not fulfilled his greater need. He smiled. ‘I’ll give it a go.’

  ‘When you thought Debbie was dead?’

  ‘What?’ Kim frowned in the mirror at Lucky. They were at the roundabout, waiting to get onto Gravel Hill. To the east the sky was salmon pink above the downs beyond Forestdale. All three women felt the weariness of having been up all night, and now they looked the part as well.

  ‘That’s why we called it off, yeah?’ Lucky said. ‘’Cause of that photo. Only now we know she might still be alive.’

  The way was clear, but Kim felt a sudden disinclination to move. ‘It was Nina’s car,’ she reiterated, certain now.

  ‘She say what that phone call was about?’

  ‘No.’ Kim swung the car three hundred and sixty degrees round the roundabout. ‘She just took off.’

  ‘You got Nina’s number?’

  Kim handed over her mobile and Lucky scrolled through the address book, pressed send, waited and disconnected with a shake of her head.

  ‘Voicemail.’

  She dialled again from memory and had a terse conversation.

  ‘Apparently they rang the Special Crime duty officer because Luke Benton was picked up D and D,’ Lucky reported. ‘Dispatch had no idea Nina was up here but she did ring them about half an hour ago for a PNC check on a dark blue Astra. It was registered to Michael Quaife.’

  Kim stamped on the accelerator.

  Jasmin was right, as she’d known she would be. She’d held him, kissed him, caressed him, offered herself to his gaze and touch. And it had worked. Men’s powers of recovery were a lot quicker than many of them cared to recognise.

  Her conclusion was based less on practical experience than sound common sense. Most of her relationships had been, as a matter of policy, chaste. She’d intended to be a good Catholic, to remain celibate until the right person came along, and in any case coming to England had been – had seemed to be – a dealbreaker. After all, she’d be in London for a year, maybe less. Sheer madness, then, to seek romantic involvement. Once back home she could take stock of her life and career, make some decisions and, if she felt the time was right, put herself in the market for a man. Common sense.

  Only it hadn’t happened that way.

  Jeff, she knew, had been interested for a long time. He seemed shy, and with a low opinion of himself, but had a quiet inner strength and perspicacity that attracted her. Later, when she caught her body sending signals her conscious brain hadn’t authorised, confusion had taken over, not to mention considerable embarrassment. But he had, in her case, proved spectacularly inept at reading body language, and it had become easier and easier for her to suppress thoughts about him that went beyond platonic friendship. Until tonight.

  Now she struggled to stop thinking about it, because it was still crazy. Not only was Jeff English and a colleague, but he was a white man. Neither she nor, as far as she knew, her mother or any of her brothers and sisters had ever had a white partner. She had no idea whether it was right, or what they’d say, or what she ought to do now. She was a million miles from home and, to her utter astonishment, in love. It didn’t make sense. What was important - what mattered -

  What mattered was that, in ways she had no hope of reducing to reason, Jeff Wetherby had just booked his place in the rest of her life. White, English, another cop or not, her heart was in orbit and she wanted him. Once more they rolled and merged and she felt him sliding in, pulsing and expanding as she drew him deeper until he filled her, stretching her as he grew in strength. Gentle, introducing himself with tact and courtesy, confident now, loving, completely right.

  Reassured, she closed her eyes and kissed him. His response was to thrust, slowly, shallowly at first, but beginning a sensuous roll of his hips as his strokes lengthened and he found the beat. A wave of fire crackled up from her loins, through her belly and into her breasts, which, just then, he began to caress with his, lifting himself on his elbows and swaying his torso back and forth to their rhythm. Gradually, the pace increased as he went deeper and harder. He gasped by her ear with his efforts, making her scalp thrum. Beyond the sea roar in her ears she heard herself moaning. Wildness took her. Her fingers tried to knead his back. The nails dug in, dragging across and down, leaving red weals, but if there was pain he was oblivious. The pungent smell of pheromones surged from him, rocking her senses. Her sex sprang alive, like a lioness from the grass. She came with an undulating cry she barely heard over the rush of blood, the detonation of a galaxy of light in her mind, a cry that turned slowly into a growl, fading to short, vocal gasps as the climax subsided in a sea of golden syrup. Her legs gripped him as still he worked her, though more slowly now, slowly.

  The black Mini was gone. They could see two Astras, but in the improving light it was plain neither was dark blue. Suddenly Lucky’s arm lunged out. ‘Look!’ They followed her pointing finger. There was a man on the pavement, just a silhouette under the streetlights. He’d spotted them, now he was running. ‘Go, sarge!’ Lucky said. ‘We can cut him off.’

  ‘No,’ Kim said firmly. ‘Got a civilian with us, remember? No offence,’ she added, turning to Juliet.

  ‘No problem,’ Juliet said.

  ‘Did you see where he came from?’ Kim asked Lucky.

  ‘Out from one of the driveways, I think.’

  She peered ahead again, but the running figure had gone. ‘Definitely nobody else with him?’

  ‘Not that I saw.’

  ‘I don’t like this.’ Kim unclipped her belt and opened her door. Lucky followed suit, as, a hesitant moment later, did Juliet. Kim stopped her. ‘You’d better stay in the car. I’ll leave you the keys and you can lock yourself in, you’ll be OK.’

  ‘What if I need to come and find you?’ Juliet said.

  ‘She’s got a point, sarge,’ Lucky said over the roof. ‘We don’t know what the picture is here. She’d do better sticking with us, in case.’

  Reluctantly, Kim agreed, with a fierce warning to Juliet to keep at least one of them in sight. As an afterthought, she reached down for the baton she kept under the seat. You just never knew.

  Lucky led them to where she’d seen the figure emerge. It was not a drive but a narrow, chalky alleyway, plunging into the gloom under some trees. Ordering Juliet to stay close behind, Kim and Lucky
advanced side by side, Kim trying to keep quiet and upright in impractical shoes. Presently they reached a t-junction. Kim indicated that she should explore to the right and Lucky the left, then turned and whispered in Juliet’s ear.

  ‘Stay here. We won’t go far. Keep both of us in sight and shout if you have to.’ Juliet nodded, looking scared. Kim felt able to give her a reassuring smile. In her white dress they, at least, weren’t likely to lose her. ‘Let’s go.’

  They stepped out and went their separate ways.

  Juliet didn’t have to wait long.

  ‘Sarge!’

  The taut cry froze Kim’s blood. She gripped her baton, turned and ran towards where Lucky was kneeling by a clump of ground elder, stumbling and almost falling as a heel gave way on the chalk. As she approached the spot Lucky glanced up, mobile already to her ear, other hand outstretched towards something on the ground. She looked like a ghost, her cinnamon complexion drained and ashy. Kim realised she was not looking at her but beyond, to where Juliet had followed Kim and was standing, horrified at what she couldn’t see but what she, too, knew was there.

  ‘Go back to the street,’ Lucky snapped. ‘Knock on the first door you come to, get somebody out of bed. Don’t take no for an answer, get towels, a first aid kit, anything they can give you.’

  Juliet stood and stared. Kim took a step back towards her. ‘You’ll be all right,’ she said. ‘Go!’

  Juliet went, running. Kim joined Lucky and looked down.

  ‘Jesus Christ.’

  It hardly seemed adequate.

  The sprawled mass in the weeds was Nina. Kim was standing in a pool of her blood, and it was spreading.

  Her eyes saw only coloured light. Her lips, touching, sought out warmth and found it on his neck, his chin, then his mouth which they encircled, searching hungrily. He groaned. He waited until he felt her grip relax and began to increase the rhythm once more, taking his lips away from hers, across her cheek to her ear as her head turned to one side for him. He raised himself up on his elbows and watched her. Her face, an expression of joy, eyes closed and mouth open, seeking out his arms and touching them, tasting the skin stretched over his biceps. He looked down at the firm roundness of her breasts. At the smooth skin of her belly, sequinned with beads of perspiration. The tight, wide hips to hold and caress. The shiny, muscled thighs spread to receive him. The dense black delta of curly fur that decorated the entrance to the heaven of which he was now a part. She was beautiful. Not just, as the saying went, a pretty face but now, her guard down, abandoned to him, in everything. Her closeness, her body, her trust, her love given in return for his. He looked at her. He loved her. All those long months of waiting, watching, listening to her, gearing himself up to speak and then backing out for fear of rejection; hanging on her every word for any clue, any hint she felt towards him the same way as he to her. And now, here she was. Here they were. He was making love to Jasmin. He was making love to Jasmin. Surely it was a dream, as it always had been.

  He pushed deeper into the dream, building steadily as he fed her his body, his being. And she accepted, whimpering now, wrapping her legs around his back, and she came again with a scream, pulling him down, his hands on her breasts, his body with her body, and her orgasm was his trigger, as all his feelings suddenly canalised, withdrew with an electric purr from his every part and extremity and fed themselves like a lightning bolt out through his groin as his climax detonated, erupting into her womb with a soft warm splash. He cried out after it; then he sank down, exhausted and satisfied at last, into her tender embrace.

  He sighed. She kissed his cheek.

  ‘Stay tonight,’ she asked.

  ‘All right.’

  Hovering on the edge of sleep, they’d no way of telling how long had passed before Jasmin’s mobile ruptured their idyll.

  ‘Winter,’ she said, nuzzling back into the warmth of his embrace. They grinned in unison at their secret. He put his ear close to the phone but all he could hear was someone squawking. Jasmin said, ‘Kim, hi. No, we - I wasn’t sleeping. What is it?’

  She listened. Then, suddenly, he felt her every muscle tense.

  ‘Moeder Gods.’ She tore herself free, sat up and crossed herself. ‘She is - ? No... slow down.’ She turned to him, but he could read nothing behind her deep frown. ‘OK. Twenty minutes, we are there.’ She rang off and sat bolt upright, clasping a hand to her mouth.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘We have to go in,’ she said. She told him why.

  ‘Fuck,’ he said. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I don’t know. Kim found her. That’s all she said. Sophia is calling the whole team in.’

  For a moment, despite their shock, they pondered the question uppermost in their minds.

  Jeff voiced it. ‘Should we arrive separately, d’you think?’

  ‘You are kidding?’ She threw herself into his arms and held him tight. They were both shaking. ‘I’m not letting you out of my sight just now.’

  ‘We’d best get dressed, then.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ she said. ‘But it might take some time.’ She took one hand from under the bedclothes and held it out, palm down. He put his beside it. They were doing a creditable impression of leaves in a high wind.

  Kim had gone with the ambulance, leaving Lucky the keys to her car, instructions to drop Juliet and go on to the nick. Now they were parked outside Juliet’s house. Lucky had made no move except to slump forward and rest her forehead against the steering wheel.

  ‘Now I know why you joined the police,’ Juliet said, with something approaching awe. ‘That was impressive back there.’

  Lucky looked up. Her face was pinched, as though on the verge of tears. ‘Thanks.’ Juliet tried not to notice the vivid, bloody handprint on one cheek, the dark streak on the other where she’d wiped her jaw.

  ‘You OK?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘I just don’t know any more.’

  Juliet waited, but Lucky suddenly seemed intent on studying her clothes, which had blood on them as well. It didn’t look as if she was going to get any more out of her. She unclipped her seatbelt and opened the door.

  ‘Look, Larissa, I’m your best mate,’ she ventured. ‘Something’s bothering you.’

  ‘Of course something’s bothering me!’ Lucky shouted, smashing her fists down on the wheel, making her friend jump.

  ‘Yep. Right. Sorry.’ Cowed, Juliet got out. But she wasn’t fooled. Those clenched fists, like a frustrated child’s. Shocking though her discovery had been, this wasn’t about a murderous attack on a colleague she’d barely met. Juliet bent down to the open window. ‘Before you dash off and don’t ring me again for a month...’

  ‘I’ll ring.’

  ‘I want to know if Nina’s going to be all right, whether they’ve caught that bloke.’

  ‘He might not’ve had anything to do with it.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ She laid a hand on her friend’s arm. ‘Not from the newspapers or off the telly. From you, all right?’

  ‘Soon as I hear.’ Lucky, impatient to be away, almost smiled.

  ‘Better let you get on.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Sure you’ll be OK? The amount you’ve had to drink.’

  ‘Look, if that didn’t sober me up,’ Lucky gestured in the rough direction of Ballards Way, ‘what will?’

  ‘Just drive carefully,’ Juliet said.

  ‘Yes, mum.’

  The office looked like a scene from the middle reel of a disaster movie. There were Zoltan, Jeff and Helen, still in their party gear which was starting to look dishevelled. In contrast, Jasmin had changed into a grey sweater and green chinos, and Lucky still wore her top and jeans from last night. A thick silence reigned. On faces the prevailing expression was stunned disbelief; anger had yet to take hold.

  All but four of the team were present. Sophia had elected not to tell Sandra Jones or Marie Kirtland, her reasoning being that anything they knew would be likely to fi
lter back to Anne White and, although she was bound to hear eventually, the DCI had no wish to spoil her memories of her farewell knees-up just yet. Her intention was negated rather by putting Zoltan Schneider in charge, but not having been at the club there was no way she could have known about their relationship.

  Zoltan, who’d had his back turned, rang off and slammed the phone back on its cradle. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘everyone here?’ No-one answered. ‘Good. Kim’s rung back from Mayday. The verdict’s in from A and E, the results of which I’ve just relayed to the guv’nor.’

  He paused, expecting some response, anything but the complete, deathly quiet, the blank faces that stared at him like a Greek frieze.

  ‘At the moment the prognosis seems to be that hoary hospital cliché, too early to say. They’ve done some running repairs and she’s gone to theatre. She’s very poorly; someone, to put it bluntly, has had a good go at gutting her like a fish. She’s been stabbed four times: once over the breastbone, twice just underneath the ribs and once on the upper right thigh. Three of these wounds are superficial; of greatest concern are the internal injuries caused by the fourth, which looks as if it missed her heart purely by chance.’

  ‘Bloody finishing her off,’ Jeff growled, turning to Lucky. ‘If you and Kim hadn’t - ’

  ‘Was she awake at all? Did she say anything?’ Helen demanded. ‘About who did it?’

  ‘Pardon my French, sarge.’ Lucky stood up and indicated her gory clothes. She’d washed her face but not thoroughly; there were still one or two reddish-brown smears. ‘Fucking look at me! We were wading in this. She arrested when they were putting her in the fucking ambulance. What do you think?’

  ‘Sorry.’ Helen lowered her head. ‘Next question.’

  Jasmin voiced what no-one wanted to ask. ‘Was she raped?’

  ‘First thing they checked for once they’d stabilised her,’ Zoltan said, mustering a faint smile. ‘Rest assured, Nina was not raped or otherwise sexually assaulted.’

  ‘He spared her that, at least,’ Helen muttered, chin in hand.