Shadow Dancer

by Tom Bradby

  Ryan briefly pondered going to see Colette McGraw immediately, but he decided to leave her isolated until the evening.

  He spent several hours in a coffee shop round the corner, reading the morning papers. When he got home, Claire still hadn’t surfaced, so he decided to go for a walk, trawling over Albert Bridge towards Hyde Park. He walked once round the park, feeling a little lonely as he did so. Not for the first time, he noticed how many couples there were in the world – and how many Arabs there were in this part of London. He wondered if that was a racist thought, but decided it was simply an observation.

  It was a long walk and he felt exhausted by the time he got home. He went back to bed and slept again.

  At seven o’clock that evening he returned to Paddington Green. He chatted to the uniformed sergeant in custody and went in again at seven sixteen.

  He was shocked. She looked terrible, her eyes red and puffed up. She obviously hadn’t slept. She didn’t look up. He sat down. He wondered if there had been mistreatment. Nobody else should have been allowed anywhere near her.

  Are you all right?’

  She put her face in her hands.

  Are you all right?’

  She still didn’t look up. He thought for a second that she might be crying, but there was no sound. The room was silent.

  He began to ask again, but this time, as he did so, he put his arm forward and gently touched her shoulder. As his hand made contact, her head sprang violently backwards. She was sitting upright and staring at him. He was shocked. His heart was beating fast. He had lost control and felt awkward. For a moment, he couldn’t meet her eyes.

  ‘Why don’t you people leave me alone.’ She’d spoken slowly, deliberately and viciously, but the words saved him. He recovered.

  ‘Mrs McGraw, you are going to go to prison for the rest of your life. I am offering you an alternative. A real alternative. If you don’t want to consider it, I will leave.’

  He held her gaze. He waited for a bitter rejection. She stared at him. There was a wildness in her eyes. She looked down. He said nothing more. They were silent for several minutes. She seemed to be wrestling with herself.

  ‘You’ve got nothin’ on me.’

  ‘I’m afraid we do.’

  ‘I’ll not be convicted.’

  ‘You will be.’

  ‘You’ve no evidence.’

  ‘The police say the evidence is cast iron.’

  She looked down again. He waited. He studied her, noticing for the first time that she had a small tattoo on her forearm, just above her right hand. He also noticed her fingers, which were unusually long, thin and elegant. Bomber’s fingers, he thought. He pushed his chair back.

  ‘I’ll give you a few minutes. I’ll be outside. Shout if you want me.’

  He stood in the corridor, finding it hard to contain his excitement and hide his nerves. He paced up and down slowly. Every time he was about to return to the room, he forced himself to wait a little more. Time crawled by. Ten minutes. Twenty. Thirty.

  Eventually, he went back in. She sat with her head bowed. She looked frail.

  She raised her head as he sat down. She looked resigned, he thought, like a wife who has been beaten black and blue accepting her remorseful husband back in the knowledge that he will do it again. He wondered if that had ever been her story.

  ‘You’re like vultures,’ she said. ‘Always hovering over the dying and the wounded.’

  ‘We don’t normally find ourselves in this situation.’

  She shook her head, smiling. ‘Right, that’s the Special Branch. You wait till people go on holiday and then miraculously turn up in the same hotel…’

  ‘It’s more subtle, I agree.’

  She laughed and Ryan couldn’t help noticing how attractive she was when she smiled.

  ‘It’s a waste of your time.’

  ‘We do better than you might think.’

  ‘You tried Davey’s brother in Benidorm.’

  ‘Before my time, perhaps.’

  ‘He complained to the Spanish Foreign Ministry.’

  They lapsed into silence again. He wanted to keep her talking, but he sensed she had more to say and would only be put off by a leading question. Her head was down again.

  ‘I don’t know how you can live with yourselves,’ she said.

  He didn’t reply. Her hair was dirty, her face drawn from lack of sleep, but she was still unquestionably one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen.

  She shook her head. ‘You know who I am. You know who my brothers are. You know what my family is and you want me to betray everything that ever meant anything to me to save my skin?’

  He held her gaze. ‘If people could hear what you just said – with the greatest respect – I think they would find your sense of moral equivalence very hard to get to grips with.’

  She didn’t respond.

  ‘Betrayal saves lives,’ he went on. ‘Murder is irreversible.’

  ‘You’re proud of what you do?’

  ‘Sometimes, yes.’

  ‘You can look at yourself in the mirror?’

  ‘Can you?’

  ‘No.’

  She stared at him. The room was silent. He held her gaze for ten seconds, perhaps longer, and then she looked down.

  ‘What are you offerin’?’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I want out for me and the kids – a new life for me and the kids.’

  ‘That should be possible.’

  ‘I want a new life for the whole family – Ma, too, if she wants it.’

  Ryan nodded.

  ‘I want to go to Cyprus, Australia, somewhere like that.’

  ‘Anything is possible. Eventually.’

  ‘Why do you want me?’

  He was surprised by the question and saw genuine uncertainty in her eyes. ‘Because we think you can help us save lives.’

  It was too po-faced an answer for her, but she didn’t seem to notice. She seemed to be fighting a battle within herself, but he didn’t think it was over the decision. He sensed that had already been made.

  She looked at him again. ‘I want money.’

  ‘You’ll get money.’

  ‘Fifty thousand, to begin with. More later.’

  He wondered if she’d been thinking about it all day or whether she had just made the figure up. ‘That is a lot of money.’

  ‘I’m worth it.’

  ‘You’re not in any position to bargain.’

  It was a mistake and he knew it as soon as he said it. The atmosphere had become easy, jovial almost, but he saw her changing mood clearly in her face.

  ‘If that’s your fucking attitude …’

  ‘It’s a lot of money.’

  ‘It’s chicken-shit for you.’

  ‘We don’t often pay upfront.’

  ‘You offered Davey’s brother a quarter of a fucking million upfront.’

  ‘All right. I’ll ask. I’ll have to get authorization. It is not in my hands.’

  ‘Well get it.’

  ‘In a minute.’

  ‘Now.’

  Ryan looked at her. He leaned forward. ‘All right, Mrs McGraw, I’ll get you your money. But understand this: mess me around – ever – and you’re finished.’

  She met his gaze.

  There was a phone in the room at the end of the corridor. Grant answered on the third ring. He was surprised and reticent at first, as if he didn’t really want it to be true. Ryan was puzzled, but he promised Grant the woman genuinely appeared to have turned. Grant said he would bleep Jenkins and told him to wait.

  Ryan waited. He paced up and down the corridor endlessly. He felt deflated and worried. He was annoyed with himself for losing control at the end. What if she changed her bloody mind? Time dragged again. At the end of the first hour, he went in briefly to reassure her the matter was being dealt with. She said nothing and his anxiety increased.

  He didn’t want someone in to help him. He wished it was anyone but Jenkins.<
br />
  Jenkins arrived an hour later. He began talking as he entered the corridor. He looked like he’d just got out of bed.

  ‘I opposed this.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your involvement.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t take it personally. You just lack the experience required.’

  ‘Everyone has to get a break.’

  Jenkins shook his head. ‘I told Grant he should have called me straight away and left it in my hands. I told him that if there is a mess, I’m not going to clear it up.’

  ‘There isn’t a mess and there isn’t going to be one.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad you’re so sure. That is very reassuring.’ Jenkins smirked. He was wearing the same faded corduroy jacket, but he’d taken off his tie since he’d left the office and a few ginger hairs poked out of the top of his shirt.

  ‘You know why Grant put you in, I suppose?’

  Ryan shook his head.

  ‘Bait.’

  ‘Bait?’

  ‘Yes, bait. Vulnerable woman. Good-looking, sympathetic young man. That doesn’t mean she’s going to be any bloody good when we get her back over the other side. She may very well decide to change her mind and set us up. Then there will be a mess.’

  Ryan was stung. He was tempted to fight back, but he knew this was not the time. ‘I think you’ll find there’s real potential here. I think you’ll find she’s worthwhile.’

  ‘And what makes you think that?’

  He shrugged. ‘Intuition.’

  ‘Intuition? Christ!’ Jenkins shook his head. ‘I think we need a little more than that.’

  Then he appeared to realize he’d gone too far. He sighed. ‘OK, let’s see what we’ve got. She believes she’s going to go to prison. That’s the pressure point, right?’

  Ryan nodded. ‘She thinks we’ve got her on conspiracy to cause an explosion and attempted murder.’

  ‘And she’s turned?’

  ‘Not yesterday. She said nothing yesterday throughout a lengthy interview. I think she must have been turning it over in her mind today. She may even have made the decision before I came back tonight.’

  ‘But she’s definitely turned?’ Jenkins’s manner was now businesslike rather than condescending.

  ‘She’s begun to set out her terms.’

  ‘Which are?’

  ‘Er, resettlement for herself and her family – including her mother when the time comes …’

  Jenkins snorted. ‘Fat chance of her mother wanting it.’

  Ryan continued. ‘She wanted to get out soon, but that was only a vague wish. I think she knew that wasn’t realistic. Other than that, she asked for money. That’s when I called in.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘She asked for fifty thousand upfront.’

  Jenkins nodded. ‘They’re getting greedy, these people.’ He turned. ‘This door?’ He led the way in.

  There was only one spare chair and Jenkins took it. Ryan stood to the side. Jenkins leaned forward, placing his arms on the table.

  ‘Mrs McGraw, my name is Dennis Peters. I am able to agree terms. Can I ask you how long you’ve been in England?’

  ‘What about the money?’

  ‘I will agree to the fifty thousand upfront.’ Colette looked surprised. Jenkins continued. ‘Let me ask you another question. You are clearly very well connected back in Belfast, so perhaps you can tell us exactly what is going on at the moment. What plans do you have? Is all this talk of peace serious? Is it going to happen?’

  ‘There will never be peace.’

  ‘That is not an answer. What is happening, please?’

  Colette looked uncertain. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t been there for months.’

  ‘That is not an answer.’

  Ryan looked at Jenkins sharply. He didn’t understand why he had to be so patronizing. He didn’t see how it would help. He looked at Colette’s face. She looked confused, but she answered. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t been there for months. There were rumours, but the leadership go their own way. We’ll be the last to know. It won’t happen – and if it does, it won’t work.’

  ‘Why?’

  She shook her head. ‘Work it out.’

  ‘Who were you working with here?’

  Colette looked at Ryan. ‘Why is he asking all these questions?’

  Jenkins answered. ‘Intelligence, Mrs McGraw. You know as well as I that that is the basis of the deal.’

  Colette still looked at Ryan. She seemed to want him to intervene, but he said nothing. He kept his face impassive.

  Jenkins asked again. ‘Who were you working with here?’

  She paused before answering. ‘His name was Magee. That is what he’s known as.’

  Jenkins pulled out a file from the bag he had with him and pushed a black and white photograph across the table. ‘Is this him?’

  She looked at it and nodded.

  ‘Who else?’

  She pointed at Ryan. ‘I’ll take questions from him.’

  Jenkins continued. ‘Who else, Mrs McGraw?’

  ‘No more questions.’

  Jenkins met her stare. ‘This is how it works, Mrs McGraw. This is the nature of the agreement.’

  ‘There is no agreement.’

  ‘I thought we’d agreed to your demands.’

  Ryan watched the harshness fade from Colette’s face. She spoke quietly. ‘I know nothing about it.’

  Jenkins’s manner was still brusque. He made no concessions to her changing moods. ‘My colleague here will brief you on the ins and outs of what we require. In essence, it is simple. We will require you to return to Belfast and continue with your activities. We will require you to meet us on a regular basis, in a place and manner which we deem to be safe for both of us. You will be required to provide us with intelligence – both specific military intelligence, information about certain personalities and as much as you can tell us about the broad strategic and tactical direction.’

  Colette said nothing. She was looking down.

  ‘And I would remind you, Mrs McGraw, of the nature of your position here. You are about to escape a very, very serious charge. You could be preparing for a lifetime in prison at this point. We expect something in return. When the time comes, we will take you out and look after you, but in the meantime we need results.’

  Ryan looked at Jenkins. He wasn’t sure this was working. He could not read Colette’s face. Jenkins looked up at him. He was still talking.

  ‘My colleague and I have to justify our actions to our superiors and, in this case, that is not going to be easy. If you let us down, the consequences could be very severe.’

  Colette was looking down now, as if uninterested. Ryan thought they’d lost her. Jenkins was on his feet. ‘Please give us a few minutes, Mrs McGraw.’

  Outside, Jenkins strode down the corridor and Ryan was forced to trail after him. He was still worried and considered saying something, but once again thought better of it.

  Jenkins took them along to the room occupied by the custody sergeant. He asked for a copy of Colette’s custody record. The sergeant looked dubious, but didn’t argue. Jenkins then led the way back to the small room at the other end of the corridor that contained the phone. He sat down, opened the custody record and began writing. Ryan stood and watched. He was confused.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Jenkins didn’t look up. ‘I am writing her confession, which she is bloody well going to sign. It may be useful later on.’

  ‘Do you think we should be a bit easier on her?’

  Jenkins looked up. ‘Leave it to me, if you don’t mind.’

  When they went back in, Colette still had her head down. For the first time, Jenkins spoke quietly and relatively gently.

  ‘Mrs McGraw, we are on the point of departure on this. I know this is difficult but you must understand what you are doing. You have to be sure of your decision.’ He leaned forward. ‘There is no turning back and there will be many tim
es when you will want to. It is a brave step for you and the children, but you must know what it means.’

  She didn’t move. Jenkins pushed the white booklet across in front of her. ‘Sign at the bottom of this page, please.’

  She looked up. Ryan thought she might have been crying again. She looked down at the booklet in front of her and slowly opened it. They waited for a response.

  ‘I’m not signing this.’

  Jenkins’s voice was calm. ‘I’m afraid you have to, Mrs McGraw, if this is going to work.’

  ‘It’s lies.’

  ‘It is a factual account of what happened at the train station and your role in it.’

  ‘It’s lies.’

  She looked at Ryan for help. He gave none. Jenkins continued. ‘Mrs McGraw, I’m not sure you really appreciate the gravity of your position. You are going to prison. There is no doubt about that. Now, if I am to go to my superiors and justify my decision, I need to have everything that they will ask for. This, I’m afraid, is one of those things. There is no choice.’

  ‘You’ll use it against me.’

  ‘There has to be trust on both sides.’

  ‘I won’t do it.’

  Jenkins’s voice was confident. ‘Then the deal is off.’

  She looked down at the page again. They waited.

  She looked up. ‘I need to think about it.’

  ‘There is no time.’

  ‘I need to think about it.’

  ‘There is no time, Mrs McGraw. We need to get you back to Belfast as quickly as possible or suspicions will be aroused.’

  She looked down again. They waited. Ryan watched her. He didn’t know which way she would go. As the minutes crawled by, the tension increased. Nobody spoke.

  She picked up the pen in front of her slowly and deliberately, held the paper with her right hand and signed with her left.

  *

  Later that night Ryan came back, this time to her cell. She looked up at him, but didn’t speak, and he sat down quietly on the other end of her bunk. The cell was tiny and Ryan noticed its white walls were shorn of anything that could be used for the purposes of suicide or escape. Ryan wondered which option she had really chosen. For perhaps a minute, they sat together in silence. When he began, he spoke softly. ‘I’m sorry. I know it’s difficult.’