D.C.I. Wainwright accepted his excuse for their prolonged attendance at the funeral. He was more agitated about the invasion of several senior police officers. He asked Massey to take a seat before he recounted the sparse amount of information to which he was currently privy.
“A long-term surveillance operation has found sufficient evidence to suggest that considerable terrorist activity is current on our patch. A full-scale arrest of those involved is about to be mounted by SO13, the anti-terrorism unit and CO19, the firearms unit. They will be arriving here later this evening. Security services have requested that we provide several back-up teams to assist. Using our local knowledge, we must also devise a game plan to seal off the target area completely. That strategy will mostly involve uniform, but I particularly want your murder squad and our own forensic team to be involved closer to the action, as the operation affects your current murder investigation. The target is the Barleycorn.”
Massey remained silent for a few seconds. “It's that Jimmy Moran…what is he… I.R.A.?”
“I have no specific details yet. At six o'clock in the canteen, there will be a general briefing to those involved. That will focus on logistics and the segregation of the area around the public house. Prior to that meeting, all non-requisite personnel will be asked to leave the building. The station will then be in a state of virtual shutdown. Those still in situ as part of the main team will not be allowed to leave the station. They will be allowed one phone call to explain to a family member or friend that they have been co-opted onto a last-minute operation. Afterwards, all communication to and from here will cease with the exception of operational needs.
When the specialist teams arrive, their commanders will hold further briefings with the team leaders of the local support teams. The object will be to liaise with key personnel regarding their responsibilities and assistance in the operation. I'm afraid that I have no other specific detail available. They appear to have introduced a temporary ‘need to know’ policy.”
Massey nodded. “It must be that group staying in the rooms at the Barleycorn. They must be I.R.A.”
“More likely to be some splinter group,” added Wainwright. “There are still several in existence.”
“I wonder if O’Malley's involved. That must be why he was reluctant to provide an accurate guest register.” Massey stood and walked towards the door. “You know, I've had this alternative theory about Lara Crawford and the missing cleaner, Mary Cole. They could have stumbled onto some incriminating evidence, an innocent discovery that could account for their elimination. The only weakness stems from the fact that Lara's murder took place before these strangers appeared on the scene. However, it is possible that she encountered O’Malley and Moran involved in some connected subterfuge prior to Easter.”
“You are still not convinced that Howard is the prime suspect?”
Massey smiled. “If it goes to trial, I think that the jury will be out considering their verdict for some time. As you know, all the circumstantial evidence points in his direction, but my confidence in his guilt has dropped from eight out of ten to a mere five. After tonight's swoop on the Barleycorn, it will probably drop to zero. Remember, the statement that placed Lara Crawford walking towards the mill in the exact time frame, originates from O’Malley. If he is arrested by the terrorism unit, his testimony will be worthless.”
“It is for that very reason why I want you and your team involved. If you believe that your current investigation is connected to the Barleycorn or could be compromised by the situation there, it is vital that you are present. Whatever forensics may discover during the operation could also yield useful evidence to support your case. Ensure that you are in the front line where you can monitor any activity. It could be messy. Vital forensic evidence could go astray.
Put together your most trusted team and let us rendezvous in the incident room in …say, thirty minutes. Irrespective of the main agenda for tonight's raid, I would like to gain insight into other priorities that may assist in the Crawford murder.”
“Thanks for your support,” said Massey. Once again, there was a spring in his step. Maybe this major interruption could be of benefit after all. The tangled web of complexity was about to unravel.
END PART ONE
Part Two Present Intrigues
(A Fruitless Quest)
It used to be considered unwise for families to openly discuss adoption. The ‘family secret’ was withheld from the adopted child for as long as possible. Over recent years, studies have shown that explanations of the facts should be given to the adopted child at an early age. To understand the differences between natural and adoptive parents however, it has been found that a child should be at least six years old, a period in life when a child's adjustment to being adopted can really begin.
This new approach has led to improved access via intermediary agencies to tracing biological roots. Not only has it afforded improved opportunities for the adopted person to research his or her background but it has also allowed adopted adults and their adult birth relatives to contact each other, if both parties agree.
This yearning for family history can have unpredictable and surprising consequences…
*****
“Suzie, you look bloody awful,” said Amanda, stubbing out her cigarette and opening the door to the staff entrance. “Been out on the lash, girl?”
“I only went for a quiet drink with a few friends,” replied Suzanne as she followed her colleague to the staff room.
“Where d'you go?”
“Started at the Head of the River, then we moved on to the Bear. Later, I got chatting to some guy at the Eagle and Child and somewhere in between, I lost track of the others.”
“Some mates they were to misplace you.”
“I stupidly joined a singles club at Kidlington a few weeks back. I thought it would be an opportunity to meet others in like circumstances. They're a weird bunch of misfits…little wonder that they’ re single. It had an adverse effect on me. I suddenly thought that maybe I was the same and I began to doubt my own credibility. Last night was ‘last chance saloon’. I probably detached myself purposely to test my own ‘pulling’ capabilities.”
Oxford social life is as diverse as any other major city with its mix of students, intellectuals, locals and tourists, a melting pot of all classes of society. Add to that, its compactness, its myriad of watering holes, its history and the spectacular architecture of its colleges, it presents itself as a cosmopolitan oasis for unlimited encounter. The Eagle and Child on St. Giles boasts the room where Tolkien and C.S. Lewis drank for almost thirty years. It retains that same ambience to this day, as Suzanne had discovered for herself.
Amanda shook her head. “Sounds to me as though you lost the plot pretty quick. You weren't on the whacky backy again, were you?”
“I was fine. He seemed an okay guy. We walked down to Jericho, had a few more drinks and then, I admit, it got a bit hazy.”
“How on earth did you get back to Bicester?”
“I didn't. I woke up this morning in his flat in Summertown. He reckoned that I passed out in the taxi, so he put me up at his place as he didn't know where I lived.”
“The sly dog. Are you sure that it wasn't ‘date rape’? There's a lot of it about these days.”
“It was my fault entirely. I drank far too much.”
Amanda grinned, as she buttoned her uniform. “Ah! The plot thickens! Did you or didn't you?”
Suzanne cradled her head in her hands. She slumped across the table. “I really don't remember, honest. My head's still thumping.”
“So, how did you get to work?”
“He drove me here, even offered me breakfast, but I felt too rough.”
“You shouldn't have bothered. Why didn't you take a ‘sicky’?”
“Can't afford it, Mandy…too many bloody bills to pay.”
Amanda looked at her watch. “You'd better get a move on, else supervisor will be on your case.” She stood up and headed
towards the door, which opened into the retail sales area of the supermarket. With the door slightly ajar, she stopped and turned towards her colleague. “What's his name, this mystery man of yours?”
Suzanne looked up, holding her hand against the interminable throbbing sensation in her forehead. Her brow furrowed even more, her eyes screwed almost shut. She seemed to focus beyond Amanda into the distance. “I can't remember. Maybe I didn't ask him,” she whispered.
“So, I take it that you won't be seeing him again?”
Her colleague looked across the staff room towards the large mirror on the far wall. “Look at the state of me. Would you fancy that?”
Amanda laughed. “When I'm pissed, I'd fancy anything in trousers. I don't fuckin' care!”
“I'd be so embarrassed if I met him again.”
“Stay away from Oxford then…and get a bloody move on, we're already late for our shift.”
*****
“When are you thinking of telling me?” asked Mrs. Ridley, as she carried the empty plates towards the kitchen.
Suzanne, her daughter looked up from the table. “Tell you what?”
“You can't kid me,” said her mother from the adjacent room. “It's a good job your dad's not alive. He'd have something to say about it.”
“Mum, what are you twittering on about?”
“You're pregnant, Suzie. I can spot it a mile off. How far gone are you?”
Her young daughter rose from the table, brushing her hands down her abdomen as though she could smooth away the barely noticeable lump. She looked down, took a deep breath and entered the kitchen. “Are you not going to ask who the father is?”
“None of my business. You change boyfriends like you change your knickers. Knowing you, you'd be hard pressed to figure out which one is the guilty party. Have you decided which one you're going to pin it on?”
“It won't be necessary. I'm going to have an abortion.”
“Over my dead body! You can put that idea right out of your mind, my girl. If you're not planning to involve the father, we can bring the baby up together. I've always wanted a grandchild.”
“But I want to be an air hostess. How can I be a flight attendant in this state?”
“After wasting your time with all those part-time dead-end jobs, you've now got a perfectly good job as a check-out girl at the airport. You'll get maternity leave. Then, later on after the baby is born, you can go back and start applying for that ‘trolley dolly's’ position.”
Suzanne shook her head. “It's check-in, not check-out, Mother! And stop calling them ‘trolley-dollies’. A flight attendant is a very responsible job. Anyway, how will I be able to look after a baby when I'm flying all over the world?”
“I suppose that you could hire a nanny,” replied her mother with a broad smile.
“You're joking! That would cost a fortune!”
“I come quite cheap, you know…and I've got experience. You're living evidence of that. Though, where I went wrong, I'll never know!” Mrs. Ridley grinned and hugged her daughter. “You can't have an abortion, child. It would be tantamount to murder.”
“But it's just a little fertilised egg at the moment, mum.”
“It's a foetus, a life. It's your child, my grandchild. I will not hear any more nonsense about it. First things first…you need an appointment with the doctor.”
Suzanne gave in. When her mother was in such a mood, there was never any other option but to yield to her every demand. Inwardly, she knew that her mother was right.
As the only child, Suzanne Ridley had been spoiled. She had lived all her life in an end-of-terrace Victorian house in Sale Moor in Cheshire. After leaving secondary school, she had taken numerous part-time jobs before landing a position with British Airways at nearby Manchester International Airport. Immediately her interest was aroused by the ‘glamour’ of an airhostess, but her enthusiasm was cooled by the fact that she had known about her pregnancy even before starting her new job. Her decision to have a termination was fuelled to some extent by her recently discovered aspirations.
Her mother was now changing her original aims. Her life was about to be turned upside down, forcing choices from her which would lead her down a very different path. Many life-changing decisions are influenced by events beyond one's control, so it was in Suzanne's case. Instead of a world of aviation, she was to be drawn into the down-to-earth militarism of army life. Her feet would never leave the ground and the extent of her flights of fancy would take her no further than Hampshire.
*****
Suzanne was on automatic pilot as she passed the groceries across the bar code scanner. She reflected on her mother's reference all those years ago to check-out girls at Manchester Airport. She smiled. Twenty years later and Mum was right after all, she thought. Here I am in my rightful role…a check-out girl. She completed the transaction and turned to greet the next customer.
“Oh, my God!” she said aloud. It was him…her drinking partner from the previous evening.
“Hello, again,” he said, smiling and placing two bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon on the conveyor belt. “I wondered if you'd care to join me for a drink this evening…and a meal of course. I could pick you up at seven if you were to write your address on my receipt.”
Suzanne's mouth dropped open. For one moment, she was speechless. An elderly woman next in the queue broke the awkward silence. “If she doesn't get a move on, you can have my address, if you wish, young man.”
Amanda spun round from the adjacent check-out and broke into a fit of giggles. Suzanne processed the bottles of wine, took his money and handed him the receipt.
“And your address?” asked the man.
“I…er…I…” she stuttered.
“Give him your address, for goodness sake,” said the woman impatiently. “My old man's waiting for his tea!”
Suzanne scribbled on the back of the receipt amid applause from the onlookers. She blushed and turned away.
“See you later, then,” said the man. “Oh, by the way, my name's Steve.”
“I'm Suzanne,” she whispered.
“Yes, I know. It's on your name badge.” He walked away towards the exit. Once again, she was lost for words.
Not so, Amanda. “He was bloody gorgeous,” she cried. “You lucky sod!”
As promised, Steve called at Suzanne's flat in Bicester later that same evening. She watched through the lounge window as he stepped from the vehicle, principally to see what he was wearing. She breathed a sigh of relief to find that he was casually dressed. In a quandary since his visit to the supermarket, she had spent the day worrying about how she should dress for the date.
Amanda had teased her. An intimate meal at his place was one of her many suggestions. Remember, he had bought two bottles of wine. Perhaps the meal was a side issue…maybe he just wanted to get her drunk again! On the other hand, he could have booked a table at a posh restaurant to impress her. There was also the possibility of parking up by the river with a take-away. The banter had continued throughout the day, confusing Suzanne as to her final choice.
Somewhat relieved, she slipped gently into the passenger seat of his Audi A4. Steve started the engine and headed out of the town towards Oxford. After a few moments silence, she asked what he had in mind for their evening together.
“Do you know the Jolly Boatman at Kidlington?”
“The pub alongside the canal?”
“Yes, that's the one. I thought that we could stop off for a drink there, as the weather is so warm. I've booked a table for a meal at Dexter's in Deddington. I've never been there before, but friends have often recommended it.”
“I hope it's not a posh place,” said Suzanne, pointing to her denims.
Steve smiled. “If that's the case, I reckon we'll both be refused entry.” He was also dressed in jeans with a casual short-sleeved polo shirt. “Not to worry. I believe that there's a good Chinese take-away nearby, if necessary!”
That's good, thought Suzanne. Let's keep all
options open.
Fifteen minutes later, they sat on a wooden bench outside the Jolly Boatman sipping their drinks as a barge chugged past slowly and almost silently like a ghost ship, following the canal towards Oxford city centre.
“I believe that this is the moment when we bore each other to death with our life histories,” said Steve. “You told me little about yourself last night.”
“I think that I was too intoxicated to string together any meaningful conversation and, if I did, I apologise for whatever I said.”
“One minute you were quite lucid and the next minute you were almost comatose.”
Suzanne grinned “Amanda… that's my friend at work…she said it must have been date rape!”
“I doubt that we would be here together, if that had been the case. It was more like ‘dead weight’ not date rape! You weigh a ton when you're unconscious! So, are you going to tell me a little about yourself? I take it that you're not local; your accent is definitely northern.”
“You go first and then I'll tell you why I'm living down here.”
“Not a lot to tell, really. I'm an area manager for a local brewery company, covering a patch that takes in most of Oxfordshire, Wiltshire and part of the West Country. I'm single with my own place in Summertown and before that, I lived with my adoptive parents in Witney. That's it. Hardly exciting enough to set the world alight.”
“How strange that you were adopted. We have something in common.”
“You also?”
Suzanne smiled. “Do you mind if I smoke?”
Steve nodded. “Go ahead. I didn't realise. I don't think you smoked at all last night.”
She giggled. “I was too pissed.” She lit the cigarette. “No, I'm not adopted. It's a long story, a complex life, not straightforward like yours. I was young, full of life, but also stupid and reckless. I became involved with a guy, several in fact, but infatuated with one bloke in particular. He was married, I was naïve and I suppose he took advantage of me. I had just applied for a job at Manchester Airport, when I discovered that I was pregnant.”
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