In the middle of all this Jason opened the front door.
Lucy scuttled out to reassure him but he didn’t seem very interested. He had a car waiting outside full of friends, and the promise of a party later. He just wanted to dump his bag and be away.
At Carter’s house three discreet men waited in their discreet car until he arrived to let them in, Eleri being in London with Alexander. All he had been told, by the Gnome’s disinterested assistant, was that there was a possibility his house had been bugged by a person or persons unknown.
The men thought he seemed nervous when he opened the door, miskeying his burglar-alarm code and causing it to contradict him angrily, giving him another ten seconds to get it right. He pushed the buttons again. Silence.
The largest of the men asked politely, in a voice that suggested urbanity and education, if they might look around. Carter nodded. He was sweating – a greasy sheen covered his nose and upper lip. The men could smell the fear. They were not curious by nature or training; they knew they’d find out why soon enough. One man went to search the top floor, the second the mezzanine floor study, and the third, the urbane one, took the ground starting in the kitchen, where Carter was clumsily filling the kettle and attempting to plug it in.
It didn’t take long to find the bug behind the Coalport teapot. Carter was by this time sitting at the kitchen table staring blankly out at the garden. The next thing to be found was an envelope. The second faceless man brought it into the kitchen, careful of possible fingerprints and ready to bag up the evidence. Nothing was said. The man opened the envelope and displayed its contents. Photographs of young men in artistic poses of physical splendour, photographs of younger men entwined in each other’s arms, laughing, and finally three photographs of teenage boys arching their naked bodies as they were caned by stern uniformed men. Carter barely nodded when the educated tones asked if they were his. There was a faint tut.
He put them on the table. Carter reached across and turned them over, face down.
A few minutes later the other bug was found and a small pile of magazines was brought in. The atmosphere was by now poisonous. Judgements had been made.
‘Behind the bath. Nearly missed them. Not what we’re looking for though, are they?’
‘Can’t ignore them,’ the urbane one replied. Hemsley worked on a need-to-know-only basis.
Carter, hearing they’d been found behind the bath, turned to look.
‘These yours too, Mr Carter?’
Carter saw the provocative poses of the children.
‘No.’
He was so surprised at the images he didn’t think to say anything else for a moment then the full horror of the images hit him. His explosion of anger took the investigators by surprise.
‘No. No, my God … They’re not mine. I’d never … No. What’s going on?’
One of the men restrained him, but too late to stop Carter’s fingerprints being left on the evidence. The only fingerprints that would be found. The third searcher had found the hidden floppy disc. He wanted to take Carter’s computer so they could examine the contents of the files. Back-up was called for. The evidence neatly bagged up.
By now Carter’s fury had subsided into shock. He was mumbling, ‘That’s not mine. It’s not mine. It’s filth … not mine.’
Just before the video was found the doorbell rang. Carter was allowed to answer it.
His deputy stood on the doorstep.
‘Jesus Christ. What’s happened, Geoffrey?’
Carter stared at him.
‘Come in. Danny, I’ve … I’ve got some visitors.’
The Gnome was intrigued. Hemsley was in his office presenting the results of the search.
‘So … let me get this straight. The Chief Constable had three transmitters in his house, a quantity of questionable photographs and an amount of illegal material with paedophile content?’
‘That’s right, sir.’
‘But he’s denying some of it is his?’
‘Yes, sir. Says the pictures are his but that he’s not a paedophile. Very emphatic about that, sir.’
The Gnome looked at the colour laser copies on his desk.
‘Believe him, Hemsley?’
‘I wouldn’t want to say, sir.’
MacIntyre nodded.
‘And the transmitters?’
‘The police tell us they’re the same as those found at Shackleton’s house. Obviously an amateur planted them, sir – they weren’t even switched on – possibly someone with a grudge. None of the agencies would use anything so crude. The whole thing feels a bit odd to me, sir.’
‘Hmm …’ The ugly little face scowled with concentration. ‘Thank you, Hemsley. Keep me informed. Oh … one thing … where is Mr Carter now?’
‘At his office, sir. We’ve handed everything over to his force. His ACC Complaints is forwarding the details to the Home Office.’
He left the room.
Nothing had surprised the Gnome since he failed Music O level but this puzzled him. He reached out and spread the photocopies across his desk.
Homosexual sex had never appealed to him but the images before him were intriguing: domination and degradation, flesh as food. The youths concerned quite old enough to know their own minds and, more to the point, bodies. On the very edge of popular morality of course but quite appealing. MacIntyre smiled. So this was what the urbane Mr Carter had learned at public school.
He looked at the magazines and any sexual interest he’d felt evaporated. Children.
He turned on the video and saw a small boy being woken by a naked man. From the weary misery in the boy’s voice it wasn’t the first time. He clutched a small threadbare teddy in his right hand.
MacIntyre watched what followed with tears running down his face. He had controlled his emotions until he realised the tune he could hear playing in the background was ‘Away in a manger’.
The cattle are lowing,
The baby awakes,
But little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes …
The childish voices so full of Christmas. He could taste ginger and feel the paper tearing from his presents.
He stopped the video. When was the last time he’d cried? At the sight of the magnolia in his garden. Beauty made him cry but this kind of ugliness tore him open. He had fought his way to where he was because of bullies and this suffering of little children roused a kind of righteous anger in him. Whatever the evil in him he knew it was not this, never this.
He blew his nose. Emotion was a distraction, certainly in this case.
The procedure was clearly laid out. The Assistant Chief Constable Complaints would contact the Home Office and they would appoint an outside force to investigate. It would be premature to arrest or suspend as there was no de facto evidence that the illegal material belonged to Carter.
The chief of the investigation would have to be senior to Carter, Commissioner of the City of London, the Chief of Greater Manchester, the Chief of West Midlands, the Chief of Merseyside or an ACC from the Met, or of equal rank. MacIntyre thought for a moment about going against the rules and giving it to Shackleton. No. Too cruel. Too personal.
If the City of London took it they would serve a Notice of Complaint No. 1 but numbered 39 next door in the Met. And the investigation into Geoffrey Carter would be under way. He would continue in his job, under suspicion, under a cloud. He could alert his legal representative but until prosecution was decided on there would be nothing more he could do. Stalemate.
MacIntyre knew it was imperative for him to accelerate the investigation, to establish the truth before Carter could move on or face prosecution. The news would soon hit the press and minds would be made up. Shit would stick no matter what the outcome.
There could be no shadow hanging over the Crime Tsar.
He looked again at the evidence. Something was wrong. The bugs, Jenni’s phone call, the contradiction of almost art-house pictures and hard-core child pornography, not necessarily mutually exclusiv
e, but … an unlikely combination?
If it was a set-up, if Carter was simply the victim of an unfortunate combination of his own bizarre tastes and a vendetta, the truth could be quickly established. But did the Gnome really want a quick conclusion to the matter? If there were second thoughts from on high about Carter’s reliability this could be the perfect opportunity to put his life on indefinite hold. By the time the facts were established the hand of time would have moved on and lifted someone else into the limelight. No messy court case, a quiet fading away. A safer Crime Tsar in place. Good.
The total destruction of Carter’s life was merely the answer to a small but nagging problem when seen from a different perspective.
MacIntyre thoughtfully tidied away the photocopies and facsimiles. The video was placed in a drawer. Perhaps, in this case, it would not be expedient to expedite matters.
When Eleri came home with Alexander that day, the day that contained the end of the world, she was flushed and excited. The school was perfect and Alex had liked it.
‘Well,’ she said as they bustled through the front door, ‘he didn’t scream the place down so he must’ve loved it. Hello, Danny, what are you doing here?’
Carter and Danny were sitting in the kitchen. Each had a cup of undrunk coffee. They were silent. Carter had had the conversation with his deputy.
‘I’m not a paedophile. I swear to you, I’m not a paedophile. That stuff must have been planted at the same time as the bugs. You believe me, don’t you?’
He looked at his deputy whose steady gaze flickered just enough for Carter to know he didn’t.
‘The photographs, they’re mine but they’re not illegal.’
No, but you’re going to be finished whatever happens. The thought was so loud in the deputy’s head Carter heard it. Or was it the echo of his own mind?
‘Danny, this is really difficult, but… those photos, they’re – they were something I used to think about. Not now, not for years. But I, I was the boys not the men. Do you see? I wanted to be the boys, not have them.’
He wanted to be able to explain his teenage fascination with the strength and domination of older men but saw his deputy’s expression. There was no understanding there.
‘What was the kiddie stuff doing mixed up with your stuff then?’
This was where it became confusing. Where his story sounded thin and unreal.
‘It wasn’t, they found it somewhere else. Not with my … photographs.’
Danny didn’t know what to say; he was profoundly uncomfortable thinking Carter was gay and suspecting he was a paedophile.
His deputy looked away, ashamed to be so visceral in his reaction.
He wanted to believe in Carter’s innocence but was too disgusted by the images skulking round his head to say anything. The deputy was confused; he wanted to get out but Carter was talking.
‘I’ve never … done anything, you know? Not physically, with a man. Too scared, I suppose. And … I didn’t really want to, it was … I don’t know. A sort of fascination. A part of a fantasy left over from my adolescence.’
He paused.
‘The press will have a field day, won’t they?’
His deputy thought he was missing the point. As far as everyone else was concerned Carter would be a trader in kiddie porn. The modern witchcraft. He’d be put on a stake and burned.
‘That stuff was planted in the house. I swear to you –’
‘Listen, Mr Carter …’ That seemed harsh, somehow judgemental.
‘Geoffrey.’ Carter tried to smile.
Danny went on not wanting to be trapped by emotion or obligation.
‘I must go. I’ll give you a call tomorrow. Have you got on to your solicitor yet?’
Carter was suddenly angry.
‘No. Why should I? I’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘You had that stuff in your possession, Geoffrey – it doesn’t look good …’
Danny realised the inadequacy of what he’d said but Carter had turned back to stare out of the window.
His deputy knew he shouldn’t leave him alone but he had football practice and anyway he really didn’t want to stay. That would be Eleri’s responsibility, poor woman. He felt somehow dirty being there. He didn’t know what to believe but kept thinking this murky stew of perversions would be too strong to escape from odour-free. He longed to get home and take a shower. He didn’t want to prejudge, especially not his friend and mentor, but revulsion and self-interest were getting the better of him.
That’s when Eleri and Alexander tumbled into the house and Danny made his way out with smiles and apologies.
He closed the front door quietly and breathed in deeply as if he’d been saving his lungs from contamination.
He didn’t know what his feelings were towards the man who had been his hero and his friend only twenty-four hours before. Anger, disgust and the desire to walk away and erase the man jostled with doubt, affection and disbelief.
He decided he wouldn’t see Carter tomorrow. He needed time to find a single emotion to carry him through. More than that he needed to distance himself from his fatally flawed chief. The future mustn’t be diseased by the past. He disliked himself for his brutal pragmatism but no one reached the top by being sentimental.
Eleri didn’t notice her husband’s mute misery while she was dealing with Alexander.
‘He loved the school, didn’t you, Alex? Hello, Peter, how was your day …?’
Peter bounded through the back door dropping his school bag and demanding a sandwich and his jeans. Eleri wanted to know what on earth he’d spilled down his uniform trousers and Alexander was jumping up and down with excitement.
There was no good time to speak. Carter felt like a ghost, an invisible observer, no longer of their world.
It wasn’t until the boys were in bed that Eleri said, ‘What’s the matter with you? You’ve got a face that would stop a clock.’
Carter moved the muscles that had recently made smiles.
‘There was a search today. Here. They found some transmitters and –’
Eleri was loudly remorseful.
‘Oh Geoffrey, I’m so sorry. Jenni phoned me to say something like that had been found at their house. I’m so sorry. It went right out of my head. Is it serious?’
‘Yes. Quite serious.’
And then the evening shattered into images of pain. Eleri curled over their hidden waiting child, rocking back and forth, protecting herself and the baby from its father. His own face caught in the mirror, so much like the face he’d had that morning. The mouth moving, emptying itself of words that drove nails into the mind of his wife.
Which to start with? Homosexual? The desiccated remains of his childish fantasies. The near forgotten fascination with the hardness of male flesh, the strength of men’s arms. Or paedophile. How could he explain there was a grain of truth in one and a silo of lies in the other?
He started with his admission. The distant, half-remembered dreams of being dominated, protected, punished, fathered.
Eleri rocked the child inside her, comforting herself.
‘Wasn’t I enough?’
Carter wanted to say this isn’t about you but he didn’t, he told her she was all he’d ever wanted. He put his arm round her shoulders.
She shook him off. She wanted the time to find her Christianity. To find the other cheek, to put down the stone she longed to throw. She saw vividly their love-making and searched his remembered face for any sign of indifference. She judged herself dirty, pendulous, and too, too rankly female against his ascetic beauty. No doubt everyone but her had realised years ago.
But she couldn’t stop loving him, could she? She looked up. He was still talking but she didn’t hear what he was saying. His face seemed to have changed. It was like the one she loved but different, the face of a stranger in a crowd, fleetingly alike but on examination no resemblance.
Carter lost all his smooth assurance, the sophistication that had draped him so elegantly fo
r all his adult life, when he saw the revulsion in his wife’s eyes and felt her flinch from his touch.
No matter how many times he said he had never been with a man he couldn’t stop the pictures in her head. He stopped talking. Her breathing slowed. Two people isolated in a bath of misery, each unable to reach out and comfort the other.
Eleri thought it was finished but Carter knew he had to go on.
‘They found some other material. Things I swear were not mine. Things I found – find – wicked, evil. That I would never, ever look at. I swear. Eleri, please, you’ve got to believe me. They found sex … magazines, a video, a disc here. They involved children.’
Eleri was staring at him. She seemed completely calm.
‘Boys?’
Carter wasn’t expecting that. He tried to think of what he’d seen.
‘I think so, yes. I’m not sure. I didn’t really look.’
Eleri pulled herself into the moment. Shut out the past and not consider the future.
‘You swear to me –’ She took hold of his hand and placed it on the swelling of their hope. ‘On our baby, you swear? You have never thought about children’ – she wasn’t sure of the words to use, there weren’t any kept apart for these occasions – ‘like that.’
‘I promise you. Eleri, I promise I have never. Never. I couldn’t. I promise you.’
Nothing seemed adequate. He looked completely broken, defeated.
Eleri found her strength again in his vulnerability.
‘So … the pictures were yours, but whatever I may think they weren’t illegal.’
‘No, they weren’t.’
‘But the other stuff has been put in the house by someone who wants to damage you – us. Probably at the same time as the transmitters.’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, the investigation should soon establish the truth of that, shouldn’t it?’
He looked doubtful – she seemed to be clinging to the wreckage of order and logic while he was drowning in a sea of uncertainty.
‘I don’t know. I hope so.’
She looked round the room. The day had started so well with breakfast in the chaotic kitchen of their cosy home, which now looked ugly and shabby. This was now the house of a man who’d made his wife a fool in the eyes of the world. A man who craved male beauty but had stayed with her female craving for procreation. And now she was a silly pregnant woman in her forties who’d got what she wanted but would never know why. Her certainties were now all doubts. But she couldn’t, wouldn’t allow herself to think the worst. Yes, she could, if she controlled and blocked her imagination, continue her life with Geoffrey. Time would ease the pain. Their baby would dull it, deafen her ears to it. But the other thing? The maggot of doubt was wriggling at the back of her mind.
The Crime Tsar Page 29