He put back the phone, and grabbed a sheaf of papers. ‘There, damn you. Now get out.’
Kate leafed through them. There were names and addresses all right. ‘These mean nothing without an explanation.’
As he leaned towards her, she smelt Edmonds’ fear. His index finger was rigid with effort not to let it shake. ‘That’s the main supplier. See – those are lists of what we’ve had. There’s his receipt. These are other suppliers – the bomber jackets, not nearly so good.’
‘What about future orders?’ Colin asked. ‘Or are they all in files on that snazzy little lap-top of yours?’
Edmonds shot him a look.
‘So no future orders. You’ll be closing as soon as this lot’s shifted. Right?’
‘Pity we’ll never be able to use any of this.’ Kate indicated the dustbin liners full of top-class leather goods they’d bought. ‘Not even a carrier bag we could have traced back, you notice.’
Colin nodded. ‘Now what?’
‘Talk to our colleagues at the nick here. I don’t want any of Mr Edmonds’ stock coming to any harm tonight. And have a word with the Fire Service. Ditto.’
‘You are taking this seriously, aren’t you?’
She paused long enough to shift her grip on the heavy bags. ‘I should hope so. You know the name I had to write on my cheque? Bel Canto. Them and all the other dodgy firms – they’re all knitted up, Colin, like a plateful of spaghetti.’
Tamworth nick’s Duty Inspector raised his hands in horror and then rubbed them with glee. If Kate and Colin were prepared to do half the cold and miserable observation, he saw no reason why his colleagues couldn’t enjoy a bit of dramatic backup. It would make a change from the usual Saturday night, picking up drunken and drug-ridden yobs who’d blazed in from Brum to make a quiet copper’s night miserable.
The Fire Service were also tickled, they said. Though they didn’t see their way clear to checking for a fire certificate on a Saturday evening, if the premises in question were open for trade on Sunday, they wouldn’t let Sabbath observance come between them and a sitting target.
Great. Except that Kate wouldn’t be able to watch any Sunday fun. ‘BB football coaching, of course,’ she grunted, shifting in the Fiesta’s passenger seat. ‘You know, the first time you do obbo., you know the coffee can’t ever be any worse. And yet each time you do it thereafter, it still manages to get worse. God, this is vile.’
‘Serves you right for trying to play Cagney. Or is it Lacey? And the worst thing about coffee, it means you want to pee all the time. In fact, I’m going to go and have a slash right now.’
At least men could use – as Colin was doing now – the shelter of a lamp post. There was nowhere in the ill-lit delivery bay behind the leather shop for Kate to relieve herself. She never learned, did she? Opening the door, she tipped the rest of the coffee away, lest she drank it without thinking.
As Selby had wanted Fatima to do. With different consequences.
Colin got back into the car. ‘He’s still in there,’ he said, blowing on his hands. ‘Busy packing, I’d say from all the frantic activity.’
‘Better than setting fire to everything. And it gives us a chance to pull him in for further questions if he tries. I only hope he moves fast. The public loos are way back down the road and I don’t fancy being caught in mid-squat in the full glare of his mates’ headlights.’
‘Go on. Stretch your legs. We’re not on our own, here.’
Considering the so-called warehouse was in a well-lit pedestrian area constantly monitored by CCTV, no one would have expected anyone in their right mind to start moving quantities of large bags through their front door. Not with some amiable local or even Birmingham youths eager to see what was inside the bags. But when Kate returned on a circuitous route from the public loos, that was exactly what she found. Before she could dance with rage, she was joined by a man and a woman.
‘Don’t worry: we made sure there was film in the surveillance cameras,’ the woman, introducing herself as Trish Stone, told her. ‘We thought it might be more fun to let Edmonds think he was getting away with it. Ah! Do we have company?’
‘I want support for Colin round the back,’ Kate said. ‘He’s on his own.’
‘Your wish is our command,’ Trish said. She spoke into her radio. ‘There’s someone on his way now to hold his hand. I bet he’ll enjoy it, too.’
Her mate guffawed. ‘So long as that’s all he holds!’
Kate clenched her fists. How to react without over-reacting? ‘Colin’s my mate. And the best partner I’ve ever had.’ Except for Robin. She bit her lip, and tasted blood.
Trish raised a hand. ‘OK. Take your point. Now, let’s just see what this Transit driver has in mind, shall we?’
‘No, you’re not under arrest, Mr Edmonds. We just want to talk to you a little more about your supplier. And we’d like to know, of course, why you suddenly decided to move all your stock after our talk this afternoon. Is that coffee all right?’ Kate wrinkled her nose in sympathy.
They were in a clean, not unpleasant interview room. It didn’t even smell too much – most interview rooms she’d come across had, under the stale cigarette smoke, an underlying tang of sweat and urine. A very male smell, come to think of it. Mr Edmonds was sweating, although the temperature here was nothing like as high as it had been in that little office of his. His body spray couldn’t mask it.
‘I told my boss about the electrics. He said not to risk it.’
Plausible. She cursed her big mouth. ‘Fine. So now you’ll be able to tell us who your boss is so we can talk to him.’ Her pen could only be described as poised. ‘Come on, Mr Edmonds. It’s eleven o’clock. You’ve had a hard day’s work and so have I. And I bet you’re working again tomorrow – right? I mean, even if you close this outlet there must be another that needs a skilled pair of hands. Worcester? Warwick?’
‘Hollywood,’ he said, wearily.
Blast the man, still playing games at this time of night! And then her brain slowly announced that it had been buses announcing they were heading there. Hoping he hadn’t registered her preliminary snarl, she quietly wrote down the address. And – at long, long last – the name of his boss. ‘It isn’t Sanderson!’ Kate leant against the wall outside the interview room, weak as if someone had torn a hole in her and her stuffing had slithered out.
‘Your mates in Fraud’ll be able to tie it up good and proper. Don’t you worry.’ The Duty Inspector eyed her kindly. ‘What I can’t understand is why you don’t just barge in to this Sanderson’s home and ask him straight questions.’
Colin produced an ironic grin. ‘Mr Sanderson is on the Police Committee and is on first name terms with one of the ACCs. He’s mega-big in the funny handshake club. Our DCI knows him quite well: pillar of the church. And I suspect if our case isn’t so watertight you could sail the bloody Atlantic in it he won’t even let it go to the DPP. Kate’s well out of it down in Fraud – we’re all tiptoeing round as if we’re in a fucking minefield. So the idea is we sort out Sanderson’s wife, his son and his associates, and only then do we pounce.’
The Duty Inspector nodded. ‘Point taken. Look, you’re both knackered, by the look of you. Come and have a bite to eat upstairs before you set off. Much safer, you know. And it’s not often us lads and lasses in the sticks are honoured with a bit of city slicker company. Come on. Only don’t touch the liver. …’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Kate could have paged from home the answerphone set aside for Isobel. But she had such a backlog of paperwork – and in these meticulous times, she was in a more than meticulous department – she decided to go in as soon as her football coaching was over.
Working her way through an overlong, underfilled baguette, she sorted and jotted; she would postpone responding to the flashing red light of the answerphone until she could give it her full attention. Three messages.
‘Promising or what?’
It was Lizzie, who pointed to the machine
as soon as she came in.
‘Saving them up. Like Christmas presents.’
‘What are you doing here, anyway? It’s Sunday afternoon, for God’s sake. You should have your feet up watching the footie or an old film.’
‘Never heard of paperwork, Gaffer? There’s quite a bit from yesterday.’ She explained.
‘Well done. Graham said you were a worker.’
When? ‘But I’m really pissed off about this guy Edmonds’ supplier not having anything to do with Sanderson. Ostensibly.’
‘We’ll get Bill and Ben on to it tomorrow.’ Lizzie exhumed a packet of cigarettes from her bag and pushed it towards Kate.
‘No, thanks. I didn’t realise—’
‘My Sunday treat. Less fattening than roast beef and Yorkshire pud.’
The women exchanged a grin.
Kate wouldn’t repeat an earlier mistake. ‘Look, Gaffer, I’ve got something I ought to do back in Graham’s squad first thing tomorrow. How would you feel if I came in half-nine-ish? Might be earlier. It’s to do with a whole lot of pharmacy thefts. And I want to catch up on the latest news about a new woman on the squad who’s gone sick.’
‘No problem. Unless there’s something on those tapes. Come on, Kate – the suspense is killing.’
You have three messages, the answerphone voice said. Message one.
And then Isobel’s voice: ‘Kate. I will try and help. But you’ll have to be patient. All those cameras, you see. But what really worries me is what he’s doing to Nigel. You’ve got to help me. He’ll have a police record, otherwise. I won’t help unless you can keep Nigel out of it.’
End of message one. Message two.
Nothing. Just the click of a phone.
End of message two. Message three.
‘Kate: he knows who you are. He knows. He’s furious you came to the house. Furious. And you mustn’t come to Green Thumbs tomorrow in any circumstances. You mustn’t even try. If I can I’ll phone. But it won’t be for some time.’
‘Shit and fuck and all the other non-Sunday words. How did he find out who you were?’
‘I had to identify myself to Edmonds at the leather warehouse place. I only used my name once, but he must have a good memory. Hell, this has blown it, hasn’t it? I’m so sorry.’
‘That’s the way it is, Kate. The good guys have to play straight. The others don’t.’
‘But tomorrow—’
‘Someone else can go. Will go. Any ideas? Or shall I go myself?’
Kate hesitated. Then she gestured at Lizzie’s hair. ‘You’re very memorable, aren’t you? What about Bill or Ben? Or even – yes, what about Colin? Looks like every mother’s favourite son, but quietly anonymous.’
‘OK by me. You and Bill had better carry on with this Nigel line. Go and see his old school. Put some pressure on. Come on, Kate – it’s not the end of the world.’
Kate looked at her shaking hands. ‘It’s just that I’m wondering what he did to Isobel when he found out.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
Seven-forty-five on a cold, dry Monday morning. Kate was tapping on Graham’s door to announce that she was spending an hour or so with the CID squad. The door was still locked. Superintendent Neville’s, however, was unlocked. She went in when he called. His face was pale in the reflected light of his computer screen. He smiled at her, and quickly closed whatever he was working on.
He got up and moved to his espresso machine in one easy movement. Desk-bound officer he might be, but he still clearly found time to exercise. Not just his body, but also his charm. ‘I know you’d like some coffee, Kate. Tell me what you think of this one.’
Kate raised her eyebrows as she raised her cup. ‘I’m no expert, Sir.’
He flapped her into a chair. ‘Never mind. Tell me.’
‘Good, dark roast. Whoosh! You can feel it hitting the spot. Tell me, how much of this do you risk in a day?’ Her ‘Sir’ was belated, but he grinned.
‘Got you, Kate! It’s decaffeinated. God knows what pollutants I’m taking in, and I know I may be heading for Alzheimer’s, but I found I was getting twitchy. And I can’t give it up altogether. So if it’s fooled you, it’ll do!’
She drained her cup and looked across at him. ‘You’ll know why I’m here, Sir.’
‘To find out about Fatima. Well, for a start, she’s gone down with an authentic dose of flu. Pressure here and lack of food, I’d say. So we couldn’t talk much. But I made it clear – and so did Gail Walker from Welfare – that if there were any problems in her working environment we would do our level best to eradicate them. Kate: if we can’t treat our colleagues right, how can we hope to treat members of the public with the care and consideration they deserve? We’re in Birmingham, for God’s sake. A city that celebrates its multi-culturalism. And yet—’ For once he seemed lost for words, shaking his head.
‘Are we any nearer in finding the perpetrator, Sir?’
His glance reminded her of the difference in their ranks. Then his face softened. ‘Watch this space, Kate. We’re going to bring the geeks in later today. That’ll mess up everyone’s work. But you needn’t fret about that, since you’ll still – I presume – be at Fraud.’
She grinned. ‘I’m sort of semi-detached between here and Fraud, Sir. As a matter of fact, I just popped in to pick up a list of items stolen in recent pharmacy raids. I thought I’d run them past a friend of mine in the Met. The one I mentioned to you. Last time he and I spoke he dismissed our thief’s activities as amateurish. I have a terrible feeling I know why they might be amateurish. But I want my facts before I talk to him again.’
‘Still no contacts up here?’
She pulled a face. Not the sort of person you can bounce vague ideas off. Not yet.’
He nodded, his eyes straying to his In-tray.
She took the hint, and left.
She and Colin were standing side by side, finger to finger, working down the columns of data Rona had produced for them.
‘Good morning.’ It was Graham, his voice as cold as the weather.
Their heads shot up simultaneously. Whether Colin’s face showed as much delight as hers, she didn’t know. Graham’s certainly didn’t. His lips were tight, his eyes narrow. Someone had infuriated him, and Kate had a terrible feeling it was her, though how and why she had no idea.
Graham turned, apparently to stride from the room. Instead, he grabbed with both hands the monitor Selby was using and turned it so he could see what was on it.
‘My room. Now. And you, Power.’ He turned on his heel, leaving a shocked silence.
Selby blundered to his feet and followed. So did Kate.
‘Kate!’ Colin hissed.
When her eyes found his – she was already half way across the room and accelerating – he winked and unobtrusively touched the side of his nose. ‘It’s not you he’s after,’ he mouthed. ‘Keep your cool.’
Selby was standing to rigid attention in front of Graham’s desk. Kate, closing the door softly behind her, stood to attention too, half a pace behind Selby.
Graham flicked a glance at her. Then his gaze returned to Selby. ‘You’ve been warned several times already about time-wasting, Selby. Three strikes and you’re out is fashionable these days, isn’t it? And you’ve had your three. And more. I’m into zero tolerance from now on.’
There was absolute silence. Graham’s eyes never left Selby’s face.
Kate’s never left Graham’s.
‘Well,’ Graham prompted, his voice rasping across the desk.
‘Miss Power sees things.’
He hated using her title, didn’t he?
‘Sergeant Power saw what I saw this morning. I have written details of the occasions you were wasting police time playing computer games. I’d like you to invite the Police Federation representative to be present at a meeting where you will be issued with a formal warning. I shall notify DI Cope and Superintendent Neville of my proposed action. Get back to your desk. Sergeant!’
‘Sir!�
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‘You will ensure DC Selby is given an appropriate workload and clears his desk each day.’
‘Sir!’ Now was clearly not the moment to remind him that she was currently based in Lloyd House. She turned smartly and left. Though she pulled the door quietly to, she did not shut it. There might be a conversation about to happen outside that Graham should hear.
Yes, Selby was waiting for her in the corridor, but he didn’t speak. Instead he pulled on her lapel and raised a finger to within an inch of her nose.
‘You brought this on yourself,’ she said, in what she hoped was her normal voice. ‘Caught red-handed. Get back to your desk – and stop playing the hard man, Constable.’
This time he did speak. His face a vicious mask, he hissed a stream of abuse, the sort of thing she’d heard only from men she’d brought in under arrest. She hoped her face didn’t show how shocked she was.
‘You heard me,’ she said at last. ‘Get back to your desk.’
She was trembling so much by the time she got to the loo she simply sat, her head in her hands, for several minutes. When she emerged it was to find Cope bellowing her name up and down the corridor.
‘My room, Power,’ he said when he saw her.
This time it was she who stood to attention, while it was Cope who let rip. ‘All this bullying and harassment. You’ve had your knife into that lad ever since you were wished on us. And now – thanks to you – one of the best lads in the squad’s gone sick.’
Gone sick? The bastard!
‘Well?’ Cope brought his face as close to hers as the desk would permit.
‘DCI Harvey saw DC Selby playing a computer game when he’d already had a warning not to. If you wish to discuss this with anyone, Sir, it should be with him. Now, if you’ll excuse me, DI King has an assignment for me this morning.’
‘Oh, DI King has an assignment for you, has she?’ he mimicked her. ‘I’ve got news for you, Power: there won’t be any more assignments here for you. You’re out of my squad. Get it?’
Staying Power Page 20