The Crime Tsar

by Nichola McAuliffe

  She slid her hand into it and pulled out her powder compact. Under its disc of translucent dust was a tiny paper envelope. Inside it a comforting amount of cocaine. She knew it was a stupid risk to bring it but no sniffer dog could have detected it past the industrial amounts of perfume she was wearing. Besides, her husband was a chief constable: nobody stopped him.

  Jenni prepared it, taking pleasure in her new skill, and took a 50 Euro note from her purse. She rolled it up and inhaled the drug through it from the polished surface of the coffee table. The numbing effect of the fingered powder on her gums was still her favourite sensation, a prelude to the flood of confidence that followed. She cleared away the evidence and prepared for dinner.

  Prepared for the next few crucial days.

  It didn’t take long for Lucy to find the transmitter once she started the big clean, but she had no idea what it was so she dusted it and put it back on the shelf.

  It wasn’t until breakfast the next day she thought of it again and mentioned it to Gary. Just in passing.

  He was immediately interested.

  ‘Bring it over,’ he said.

  ‘I can’t do that. I don’t even know what it is. It might have something to do with the security.’

  Gary was amused.

  ‘What, a burglar alarm in a cupboard? With all that stuff they’ve got? No chance.’

  Lucy shrugged. But Gary didn’t let it go and eventually she picked up her keys and went across the road to fetch it. She tried not to look at the photograph of Tom on the side table in the hall. As she had been trying not to think about him since her dismissal. But with distance she was beginning to convince herself she had misinterpreted what he said and how he’d said it. Maybe when he got back things would be all right between them again.

  She handed the transmitter to Gary. He turned it over, examining it with disbelief, feeling he was a bit player in a Bond movie. He knew exactly what it was – the books he absorbed in large print from the library were full of spies and the hardware of espionage. He’d long since given up struggling with the literary novel, its convolutions further removed from his own reality than even SAS mavericks saving small African states. Gary almost laughed.

  ‘It’s a transmitter. A bug. Was this the only one?’

  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t looked for any others.’

  His hands couldn’t grip it and it fell to the floor.

  ‘Gary … be careful. You’ll break it. Are you sure it’s a bug?’ She felt silly using such a B-movie word.

  ‘I think so. I watched a documentary about MI6 a couple of weeks ago and they used this sort of thing.’

  Lucy picked it up looking for a clue as to its use. All she saw was a small black box with a bit of black rubber sticking up from one side. She wanted it to be tiny and made of space-ship metal, small and sexy.

  ‘Maybe it’s theirs. I don’t know, a memento or something from Tom’s time with … sorry.’

  She saw Gary’s expression and knew he thought she just wanted an excuse to speak to Shackleton. She changed tack.

  ‘You could speak to them. You know what it is.’

  Gary nodded.

  ‘Yes. All right.’

  Lucy dialled the number, reading it off the teddy-bear-decorated pad by the phone.

  ‘Hotel Sobrino ¡buenos dias!’

  Lucy always froze when calling abroad. It was something about the single rings and the abrupt confidence of the people that answered.

  ‘Er … hello. Mr Shackleton, please. Room one two six.’

  ‘Ciento veintiséis. Gracias, Señora.’

  Again the single rings. Three rings. Then Tom’s voice with that quiet, three-syllabled ‘Hello’. Her heart did what hearts do. Or was it her stomach? She handed the phone to Gary.

  ‘Tom? It’s Gary, Lucy’s found something in your house …’

  Shackleton put down the receiver. Jenni was in the shower. He didn’t move when she emerged swathed in white towels.

  He looked middle-aged and saggy out of his immaculate suits and uniforms. Slightly foolish. His passivity irritated her even more now they were alone together with nothing to distract them. But they were here for the image of their marriage, the golden couple. Two people who’d got through life never beached or wrecked on the rocks of endless intimacy.

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’

  Jenni thought it must be his neck or his stomach or another nameless ache, the debris of stress and age. Jenni felt if she never showed sympathy his symptoms would eventually give up and go away. Or he’d stop demonstrating the pain in front of her.

  ‘That was Gary –’

  She cut him off.

  ‘On the phone? Why didn’t you call me? What did he want? Is everything all right at home?’

  ‘Lucy found a transmitter while she was cleaning.’

  Jenni was controlled. She picked up a brush and gently teased it through her wet hair.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  Jenni listened with satisfaction as her husband, in full Chief-Constable mode, phoned his deputy, arranged for the house to be minutely examined by the special operations unit.

  Jenni turned on the hairdryer.

  ‘Is it serious?’

  ‘Of course it’s bloody serious.’

  Good, she thought. About time too. What had Lucy been doing not to find it for so long? Stupid woman.

  ‘Does this mean we’ll have to go home early?’

  ‘Yes.’ He picked up the phone again. ‘Turn that thing off – I can’t hear.’

  Jenni wasn’t remotely annoyed but saw her opportunity. She slammed down the dryer knocking an ashtray on to the tiled floor where it shattered.

  ‘You always spoil everything. You bastard! You apology for a husband! We’ve never had a break you haven’t ruined. Don’t try and change the tickets on the phone, you’ll only cock it up. Go down to reception. Get them to do it. Go on! Get out! Get out! Leave me alone.’ She was screaming now, pleased with the effect she was creating.

  As usual he quailed and collapsed under her expert attack.

  ‘Jenni, calm down. Stop shouting. All right, all right, I’ll go. Just calm down.’

  She didn’t let up until he’d gone and closed the door behind him. Immediately she went to the phone and pressed the numbers of Carter’s home. Eleri answered quickly; Jenni was tearful, a small voice of vulnerability in her ear. Eleri was immediately solicitous.

  ‘… and she found some sort of transmitter. A listening device. Oh God … Someone must have got into the house. It makes you feel so awful, violated …’

  Eleri tried to calm her, unsure why Jenni had called her.

  ‘Well … you could have them too.’

  Like mice, thought Eleri.

  ‘Yes, I suppose we could, but I don’t see why.’

  Jenni wanted to scream: ‘You stupid great pregnant cow, your husband’s a fucking chief constable, that’s why.’

  ‘Why? Eleri, Geoffrey’s going to be the Crime Tsar, Tom’s going to be head of the largest and most controversial police force in the country, they’re both higher profile than most politicians. Don’t you see? Anyone from MI5 to the News of the World could have planted them. And after what Geoffrey said on television, well, they’ll be watching him now, won’t they? God knows how long they’ve been there. We’ve had workmen in the house so many times this year.’

  ‘Oh … funny you should say that, we’ve just had replacement windows –’

  ‘Were you there all the time?’

  ‘Well, no … the next-door neighbour let them in sometimes.’

  Jenni knew when to stay quiet. Let thought do the work.

  Eleri’s baby-soaked mind was slow but finally she said, ‘I’ll have a look, Jenni, really. I promise. But your friend might have made a mistake. We should wait and see. I’ll tell Geoffrey when he gets home but he’s terribly busy today and I’ve got to take Alexander to see his new school. They do conductive education and we’ve waited ages to
get him in …’

  Jenni wanted to scream at Eleri’s hormonal serenity but she kept calm and rang off. She would have to wait, bide her time and wait.

  She was too tightly wound up to relax; she needed a release. What to do. Where was Tom? She felt as if small claws were scrabbling round the inside of her skull. She could hear them scratching. It was difficult to breathe. She felt a wave of panic. She needed more of the magic white powder but had none left. She had had a couple of little handmade envelopes in her dressing table at home but had made sure they were gone before they left for Spain. If the house were to be searched for any reason while they were away … Jenni smiled. Two of her pills and a large vodka might take the edge off her craving. She poured the drink, swallowed the pills and dialled the Gnome’s direct line.

  ‘Jenni, what an unexpected pleasure. How are you?’

  One of the new girls came in with his coffee. As she turned to go he noticed she didn’t shave her legs. He briefly wondered about her armpits. Laziness or naughtiness?

  ‘Robbie, I’m so sorry to bother you. We’re in Spain and Lucy just rang to say –’

  The story tumbled out and the Gnome listened. He really didn’t have the time for this but he had rather a soft spot for Mrs Chief Constable. She had been so deliciously disgusted by him. He rarely revisited the scenes of his triumphs but he rather liked the idea of dipping into that particular honeypot again.

  ‘… and poor Eleri’s expecting so I don’t want to alarm her, but I’m afraid with the business of the siege and Tom and Geoffrey being so high-profile – I’m sure you understand, I hope I’m not being paranoid but well… I’m so sorry to drag you in but Tom’s not here and I’m dreadfully worried.’

  He reassured her and promised he’d look into it but she could hear in his voice he wasn’t quite convinced.

  ‘Robbie, thank you. I’m so grateful.’

  ‘Oh, you will be, you will be.

  ‘And, Robbie …’ Did she dare? ‘There was something else.’

  His silence invited her to go on.

  ‘I’ve visited the Carters’ house a lot lately and … well, this is very difficult, I think Geoffrey Carter may be … may have … Oh God, Robbie, I don’t know how to say this but I think you may find more than bugs in the house. I really can’t say any more.’

  What on earth was she twittering on about?

  ‘Stolen goods, Jenni? Illegally imported rolling tobacco? What?’

  ‘Some sort of pornography …’ Jenni stopped. Had she gone too far?

  ‘I see.’ MacIntyre paused.

  Jenni rushed into the silence.

  ‘Alexander, their autistic boy, he found a video in a cupboard. I didn’t watch it but the cover, the title – I think it was …’

  ‘What, Jenni?’

  The Gnome’s voice was hard. She hesitated. What was he thinking? Did he believe her?

  ‘Something involving children.’ She rushed on. ‘Look, I could be wrong, it may be perfectly innocent. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. I haven’t even told Tom. I didn’t see it properly. I’m sorry …’

  MacIntyre frowned. Was Carter going to prove more trouble than he was worth?

  ‘Don’t worry, Jenni. The matter of the transmitters will have to be looked into and if anything else turns up –’

  Bingo!

  ‘Thank you, Robbie. I hope you don’t think I’m being hysterical.’

  ‘Not at all, Jenni. Not at all. And, Jenni, when you get back we must find time for a meeting. I so enjoyed our last encounter.’

  ‘Me too, Robbie.’

  You’re a bad liar, Mrs Shackleton.

  ‘Right … let me know when you can get away from your husband. And thanks for the call. I’ll look into it.’

  Jenni Shackleton the broken flower panicking in her husband’s absence was a hard act to swallow but she sounded genuine enough and the snippet about Carter’s sexual preferences was extraordinary. He wanted to know more but gossip wasn’t his style. An accusation like this needed to be shot down immediately. Unless of course it was true.

  After a brief series of phone calls a man called Trevor Hemsley was put in charge of the delicate matter of searching the Chief Constable’s house. He found it vaguely irritating, as it was his day off and he was reconstructing The Mary Rose out of a balsa kit, but he put down his glue, put on his coat, and went to work.

  Jenni was dressed and reading a tour guide when Tom got back with the new tickets. He looked hot and exhausted. He was sweating and his face was red, not with sun but exertion.

  ‘Darling, when did you last have your blood pressure checked?’

  Shackleton never ceased to be amazed at the mood and subject changes his wife was capable of.

  ‘I’ve got the tickets. The flight’s at eight-thirty tonight. OK?’

  Jenni was sweetly surprised at his question.

  ‘Of course, Tom. You do look awfully hot, you know. Come and sit down, I’ll get you something to drink.’

  She gave him a bottle of too cold sparkling water from the minibar and stood behind him running her cold fingertips, like cobwebs, across his forehead. He didn’t dare move. He didn’t like the feeling of her mortuary skin on his but knew better than to shrug off her attentions. He glanced up at her but she wasn’t conscious of him – she was looking into some distance that contained pleasure. A look that didn’t include him.

  ‘Are you worried about this bug?’

  Her voice had a softness, as if she wanted him to say yes. Wanted to be able to comfort him.

  ‘No. But I’d like to know who put it there.’

  ‘Maybe it was the security services. Making sure you’re sound before you get the Met.’

  ‘Doubt it. That lot haven’t much time for the police. They think we’re not bright enough to get up to anything that could remotely be a security risk. Anyway, they’re too sophisticated for that sort of hardware – they tend to go in more for phone tapping.’

  Jenni continued to soothe his troubled brow. He wished she’d stop.

  ‘What about the press?’ Jenni asked.

  Tom didn’t say anything for a moment; he was beginning to realise why Jenni wasn’t doing an impression of a Komodo dragon that had stepped on an anti-personnel mine.

  ‘Jenni … has this got anything to do with you?’

  She squatted down beside him, her delicate bird hands on his arm.

  ‘If it had it would be for you. You know that, don’t you?’

  He touched her hair. Yes, he knew that was what she believed and there was no point in trying to inflict reality on her. He wasn’t even sure he could withstand the onslaught of naked hatred that would provoke. This oasis of peace and gentleness was so rare.

  ‘I know Jenni, I know.’

  For one awkward moment each thought the other was going to attempt a kiss. Jenni had never really liked kissing, tongues and teeth awkwardly and messily in conjunction. She saw the panic in his eyes, those innocent eyes that had looked so hurt so often.

  An image she hadn’t thought of for years came into her mind: Tom on their first date, when she’d reached up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek as they said goodnight. The same look of panic. But then she’d gently touched his lips with her fingertips and asked him what was wrong. Looking at him there in the Spanish hotel room she could hear his soft, sad voice from that night. ‘Nobody ever touches me.’ She remembered wanting to hold him and protect him.

  Then the fear.

  The fear it was a trick.

  She was quite happy to give him her body but anything else would come at a price.

  ‘Don’t you want me, Tom?’

  Abruptly he was on his guard again. What he’d thought was companionship was something far more threatening. He preferred her when she was telling him how much she hated the thought of sex with him. He didn’t understand this playful kitten act and he certainly didn’t like it.

  He looked at her face: there was something strange, different, about her. As if she was sli
ghtly out of focus, blurred.

  She mistook the intensity of his look for desire. Had she been without drink, without drugs, she would have seen the revulsion there but all she saw in those still beautiful eyes was the twin reflections of herself. She wanted to feel her power over him again. The altered state of her mind hid the reasons for their frigidity with each other. Dieter had given her back her magical powers and she was invincible.

  Tom froze as she undid his shirt, expertly slipped the buckle of his belt and undid his zip. Her sharp red nails disappeared from sight and reappeared as she eased his penis free. She held the limp troglodyte in the sunlight. She kissed it. Shackleton looked down at her. He felt like a character in a sci-fi movie whose wife is replaced by an alien. Attempts at oral sex had been abandoned early in their marriage. The idea repelled him. Nevertheless her tongue and lips were expertly manipulating him when the phone rang. For a moment he thought she would continue while he answered it but the phone was on the other side of the room. He stood up, hating having to gather his trousers around him as he picked up the receiver. She stayed kneeling on the floor, not looking at him but still wrapped in dreams. She reached across for her vodka.

  Tom kept talking as long as he could. It was Vernon who’d simply called to reassure his boss that everything was under control. Most chiefs would have resented the intrusion but Shackleton was grateful as well as relieved. Vernon’s fussing had never been so welcome.

  After a minute or two Jenni got up, picked up her handbag and reapplied her lipstick. Tom could see she had completely forgotten what she, moments before, had wanted so badly. Relieved, he rang off and suggested they pack.

  She turned and beamed at him.

  ‘Why not?’

  Two Special Branch men arrived at Carter’s house with Hemsley from MI5 at the same time as what looked like a regiment of Royal Engineers descended on Shackleton’s, where Lucy hovered clutching her keys, on the verge of self-accusatory tears. They went through every nook and cranny of the house with her trailing from room to room begging them to be careful and replacing everything precisely after they’d examined it. They were pleased to find a second transmitter in the hall-light fitting.