Staying Power

by Judith Cutler

  ‘And if there’s no floor-show, you get to look at the photos on the door.’ Kate tried to match her voice to Isobel’s.

  ‘Of course, I didn’t have to watch anything. I could always stay downstairs in the loose-box if I preferred.’ Isobel spoke without irony.

  ‘Indeed,’ Kate said. She was ready to do violence. She forced herself to keep her voice calm.

  ‘Let me get this straight,’ Midge said. ‘If you wanted to come into the house at times other than those he’d designated, you had to come straight up here?’

  ‘Now, ladies, if you’re ready, perhaps we should go down.’ Isobel opened the door. Before they could move she seized Kate’s wrist. ‘You’re sure he’s – that he won’t—’

  ‘They won’t even start questioning him till we assure them that you’re clear of the premises. You and Nigel.’ But Kate wasn’t as confident as she hoped she sounded. Surely a man like Sanderson would have a Plan B. The plan for if he were ever detained. If he could command professional burglars and move in on the London drug scene, he must have heavies at his disposal.

  She nipped quickly down the ladder, making for a bathroom, she said. And tapped Neville’s hotline. They had to make sure Nigel got home even if it meant stopping and searching every bus on the route. Because they might not be the only ones doing it.

  Chapter Thirty

  ‘So congratulations to DS Power on causing the biggest rush hour traffic jam Gravelly Hill has ever seen!’ Neville waved his glass at her. ‘No bus for half an hour and then forty-three come together.’

  Kate basked in the warmth of everyone’s derision. Not a bad day, after all. Isobel was stashed with Nigel in a safe house, further protected by armed officers. The siege had petered out, once the gunman had been assured by no less braided a person then an ACC that Sanderson was under arrest. Sanderson had been so shocked at being picked up they’d had to repeat the caution. Everything was hunky-dory. Nearly.

  ‘So what excuse has young Harvey got for sloping off this time?’ Ted Dyson demanded, coming back with a fresh round. ‘I mean, it’s a pretty neat bit of co-operation, and he ought to be here.’

  Lizzie flushed so deeply it was painful to see. Kate was afraid Ben was about to comment boisterously on Lizzie, but Bill dived in. ‘Tennis elbow,’ he said.

  ‘But he doesn’t play tennis,’ Ted objected.

  ‘No, but he’s afraid he may get it if he bends his arm too much.’ Bill mimed drinking from a big glass. He took a real one. ‘Cheers, Gaffer.’

  ‘No,’ Colin put in, ‘It’s pulling out his wallet that’s the trouble. You should see the moths.’ He flapped both hands.

  Kate kicked herself. A woman in trouble and it was left to two men to deflect everyone’s attention. ‘Cope must have the same problem, then,’ she said, belatedly.

  ‘Always was a funny bugger,’ Dyson said. ‘Rum pair.’

  So why was Colin pressing her foot, hard, and Lizzie making some fuss about fag ash on her skirt? ‘It’s not bleeding fair! I only smoke on Sundays and look what someone’s done.’

  ‘Ash!’ Midge exclaimed. ‘Ash! We had a bleeding Rottweiler! Well, we didn’t, but we might have. And Kate was shitting herself in case we had.’

  ‘Not as hairy as the local sheriff turning his flashlight on us and threatening to phone nine-nine-nine,’ Kate said. ‘Some neighbourhood watch vigilante,’ she added.

  ‘Why didn’t you send Uniform over first – you had a couple of strong, silent lads in the car, didn’t you?’ Lizzie asked.

  ‘Strong, but scarcely silent: the biggest gossips in Brum. If they’d thought we couldn’t get over the fence and heave the ladder over, it’d have been all over town in five minutes.’

  ‘I gather you had to borrow a jacket from one of them, Lorraine,’ Neville put in.

  ‘See what I mean? Well, we couldn’t have Kate shinning over in that nice tailored affair of hers, could we, not with that razor wire to get rid of. And hers didn’t quite fit me.’

  ‘You wait till you’ve lost that other half stone,’ Midge said. ‘Then it’ll fit you a treat.’

  ‘So there weren’t any dogs,’ Neville pursued.

  ‘None. Though we did borrow the Uniform lads’ CS sprays, just in case,’ Kate said. ‘Dogs aren’t really my thing, you see. I was afraid – afraid Sanderson might have trained a pair. Just the sort of thing a sadist like him would do. Like that captain in Schindler’s List. The one who enjoyed tormenting his women prisoners.’

  ‘Did you ever have any hint of his attitude towards women before that? I mean, you met him socially, didn’t you?’

  ‘None, Sir. He was unpleasant enough to his wife for other women to rally round her, but he wasn’t a gropy, feely type. I suspect he didn’t actually have all that many affairs. It wasn’t sex he wanted, just to make his wife miserable. You know, she was allowed in the house only during the hours he specified. The surveillance cameras would have picked it up if she’d tried to come in earlier. Not to mention if she tried to look away from him when he was having his sex sessions, as and when he did.’

  Midge pulled a face. ‘I’ve never come across anyone so sick. Fancy having a camera in the lavatory, for God’s sake!’

  ‘So she had a choice between the outhouse – the loose-box she called it – and the use of the outside loo and so on, or that little cell upstairs, complete with plastic bucket and live sex or porno photos. Some choice. No wonder her garden was such a miracle.’

  ‘I wish they could string the bastard up, Sir,’ Midge said. ‘He’s destroyed her life as sure as if he’d killed her, driven that Grafton bloke to topping himself—’

  ‘Brought disgrace on a decent Pakistani family, probably damaged his son irrevocably – and he’ll get four years, if that,’ Neville added.

  ‘Justice!’ someone said.

  The party started to break up soon after that. Bill wanted to see his kids before they went to bed; Ben had an ailing computer to nurture. As they left the pub, their breath billowing white into the bitter air, Kate found herself falling into step with Neville. How on earth had she come to leave her gloves in Graham’s room? She balled her hands deeper in to her pockets.

  ‘Round here they call this a lazy wind,’ Neville said, digging his chin deeper into his scarf. ‘You know why?’

  ‘Because it goes through you, not round you,’ she said with him. It was the first time she’d seen him so informal, but she had a nasty feeling there was something everyone else knew and she didn’t. Graham’s absence was no doubt for the usual reason, but she couldn’t understand Cope missing the chance of a booze-up. Unless he was still so angry he wouldn’t sit at the same table as her. Tough. No doubt tomorrow they’d get their heads banged together by Graham and the Super and told to get on with it.

  Despite the wind, they weren’t walking quickly.

  ‘You really have had a bad time, haven’t you? I was talking to Harvey. Those two dreadful accidents. Well, not so much accidents as attacks. Two deaths of people close to you.’

  Despite the kindness of his voice, she stiffened. Was this going to be used as evidence that she’d come back to work too early, that she wasn’t up to the staff responsibility part of her job?

  ‘How are you coping with life on your own?’ he pursued.

  She breathed out slightly.

  ‘I mean, it can be a lonely life for a cop – and then to have no one to go home to.’ He spoke with more feeling than she’d have expected.

  ‘It can, can’t it?’ she said. ‘If you ever get to go home, that is.’

  ‘Well, eventually I suppose we all do. Graham Harvey, for instance. What was all that about tonight?’

  Friendly gossip? That was what his voice suggested. But he was Graham’s boss, too, and however Graham irritated – no, hurt – her, she owed him her loyalty.

  She’d settle for the truth. ‘I gather his wife doesn’t enjoy good health, Sir.’

  ‘Oh, call me Rod, for goodness’ sake, Kate. Come on, I’m sure we
ought to find some food to mop up that booze. And that grilled BSE smells so good.’

  It did. The smell of steak was streaming past them, borne on a swell of chips.

  She nodded. ‘Trouble is – Rod – I’ve got to push off. That kid in the hospital. He’s had his op, and he’s back in Intensive Care.’

  ‘Poor kid. But surely they’ll keep him sedated – he won’t be able to talk to you for a while.’

  ‘No. But maybe he can hear if I talk to him.’

  ‘Where are you parked?’

  She clapped her hand to her head. ‘You know, I don’t even remember if I came in by car this morning!’

  ‘I’m not surprised. I gather you were up most of the night.’

  ‘And late in this morning. Yes, I must have come by car, mustn’t I?’

  ‘So I can’t offer you a lift?’

  It was only after she’d bidden him goodnight that she realised his tone wasn’t at all that of a superintendent talking to his sergeant, but something entirely other. She told Simon all about it. If he could hear anything, she’d rather it was her voice than all the humming instruments to which he was attached. But he gave no response, of course. His personal nurse did, smiling a little, and then, when Kate no longer felt like giggling, passing some tissues. But she made no comment either.

  Kate supposed she and Colin could have picked up Tony’s boss, the man who burgled the houses where he’d laid carpets, before the meeting. But another late night at the hospital had left her more drained than she cared to admit. At least Simon was beginning to show the most marginal of improvements, according to the charge nurse she got through to, but of course no one was prepared to make predictions at this stage.

  So how did she feel about this meeting? The whole squad was crammed into the office, so the noise level was high. So was the excitement – yes, there was definitely a feeling of a pack. But knowing the fierce loyalty of men and women prepared to risk their lives for each other, she knew that anger was also simmering: no one would want to see official retribution strike. And what about her? How would this impact on her still fragile relationship with the rest of the group?

  Yes, everyone was here. Nearly everyone. Fatima had come to perch on Kate’s desk, and coughed intermittently, as if to demonstrate the genuineness of her flu. No Selby, of course. His sick note was open ended. Stress.

  Neville and Harvey came in together. Everyone stood, as if for teacher, and then sat, silent, ready.

  ‘I’m not here to debate whether racism is endemic in the police service,’ Neville said. ‘But I’m not having it in my squad. And there has been – as I’m sure you’ll all know – an extremely ugly example of racism perpetrated against one of our colleagues.’

  All eyes turned towards Fatima, who produced a harsh, rattling cough.

  ‘I have to tell you that such offences will always be treated seriously. Two of our colleagues are at present under investigation. One of them is currently on sick leave, the other is suspended on full pay. The Police Federation representative has been informed.’

  Colin raised his hand. ‘Do I take it that the recent investigation into our computers is relevant to this case, Sir?’

  ‘Off the record, you do. We needed to find out on whose computer the offending memos – I’m sure, the grapevine being what it is, you all know what was written – had been produced. We’ve now established beyond reasonable doubt that two officers were responsible for it. Off the record. So don’t go blabbing to our friends in the media, eh?’

  The only person missing apart from Selby was Cope. Bloody hell, did that mean Cope was—

  Colin caught her eye, his eyebrows in his hairline. ‘Cope!’ he mouthed.

  She responded by drawing an exclamation mark in the air. Her eyebrows must have matched his.

  ‘The problem was,’ Neville – Rod! – was explaining, ‘that your computer was involved. So there was a suspicion that you had indeed forged those documents to frame someone else.’ Half an hour after the meeting was over – oh, he was showing tact! – he’d called her to his room.

  ‘But,’ Graham smiled, ‘you’d set it up to record the time and date each document was produced.’ He looked as if someone had lifted a filing cabinet from his shoulders: he must really have feared it was Kate. So much for the trust between friends.

  But she smiled. ‘Oh, ages ago,’ she said. ‘When Cope wiped that report for me – almost my first week.’

  ‘Well, I suspect it was Selby, not Cope, who used your machine. But poor Cope’s never made it to computer literacy—’

  ‘And he always used to right justify his text! Why didn’t I think of that!’ She clapped a hand to her face.

  ‘There it all is, clear as day, on his hard disk. Right-justified.’

  ‘What’ll happen to him?’

  Graham shrugged: ‘Demotion, possibly. Provided the disciplinary proceedings come to the same conclusion as our internal investigation. Certainly a transfer. As for Selby – as long as he’s on sick leave we can’t touch him.’

  All three were silent.

  ‘Now what?’ Neville asked at last. ‘A squad celebration? You’re all off the hook, now.’

  ‘I think we’re all too stunned, Sir. And in many people’s book, Cope was a decent, old-fashioned cop. A bit of a thug, but none the worse for that. No, a quiet time for us all, I should think. And Colin and I have still got to deal with the guy who practised a spot of burglary in his spare time. The carpet man.’

  ‘Go and bag him,’ said Graham, grinning like a school-boy.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  ‘So you and this Patrick man are going to paint the town red, are you?’ Cassie crowed, pulling herself more upright in her chair. ‘And when am I going to meet him?’

  ‘Soon as I can fix it.’

  ‘I reckon you’ve got a few doubts about him or you’d have brought him before.’

  Trust Cassie to put her finger on it. ‘Well, things have been slow taking off, shall we say.’ And we’ve been slow taking things off, too. ‘But he’s been brilliant over that lad that got beaten up. He’s got a friend who specialises in that sort of internal damage and he’s brought him into the case.’

  ‘I bet that ruffled a few feathers. These doctors always like to be right, you know.’ She rattled the ice round her glass before sipping.

  ‘You’re right. But Simon’s at last started to make some progress.’ Slow, desperately slow progress. He might yet need a kidney transplant.

  ‘What’ll you do with him when he’s let out? He can’t go back on the streets, can he?’

  ‘What indeed? But it’s not really my problem. Not really.’

  ‘That won’t stop you thinking it is. You should be working for the social services people, not the police. Look at that business with that lad that laid the carpets.’

  Kate nodded. She’d been trying to do some last minute shopping when someone had called her name.

  ‘Yes, you! Kate! Hey, what the fuck did I ever do to you? I did a good job on your carpets, I sort out your kitchen floor something lovely – I even lock your bloody front door! And what do you do? You lose me my bleeding job, don’t you!’

  Tony, her floorer.

  ‘Lose you your job? What are you on about?’

  ‘You fucking copped my bleeding boss, that’s what.’

  ‘So—’

  ‘And he’s going to plead guilty. Right?’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘So his firm goes under, and I’m—’ his hand threw an imaginary butt end into the gutter. And ground it in, for good measure. ‘Properly fucked up. I lived over one of his shops, didn’t I? So no job, no fucking flat. God, you lot don’t half piss me off.’ He turned from her in a movement remarkably like one of Graham’s flounces. Only this wasn’t hurt dignity, it was real anger. There was total silence.

  She’d grabbed his arm, so he turned. ‘Tony … I may be able to help.’

  ‘Got a bleeding carpet shop, have you?’

  ‘No
. But I know someone who’s putting a work and housing plan together.’ She outlined the scheme Isobel had been involved with.

  He’d listened, interested at first then angry. ‘I’m not a fucking street kid! I’ve got a girlfriend who’s expecting at Christmas. And don’t give me any crap about stables. I want a home, not a hostel, for my kid.’

  And her rattling round on her own in her house. No. It wasn’t her responsibility. She couldn’t house-share with a couple she barely knew, let alone their baby. At last, she’d given him her work card. ‘I’ll talk to the council. Phone me late this afternoon.’

  ‘Did you find him anywhere to live?’ Cassie asked, holding out her glass for more gin. ‘You and the council?’

  ‘I pulled every string I could find, and then some. Got his councillor involved. And threatened the housing people with his MP. Nothing they could live in, not with a baby.’

  ‘So the poor lad’s on the streets. Thanks to you.’

  She wished Cassie didn’t sound quite so vindictive. ‘Not quite. Graham Harvey – did you ever discover his wife’s name? – he’s involved with some church – a really out of the way sect. They found him a flat they used to save for visiting preachers.’

  ‘I should hope so. Flavia. That’s what the poor woman’s blessed with. Flavia. After some saint. Apparently they all belong to this same sect. That’s where he met her. And they’re like the Catholics. No divorce.’

  ‘Flavia,’ Kate repeated. ‘Well, that could explain a lot.’ But not, she knew, everything. She tried a new subject. ‘How’s Rosie?’

  ‘Still with that man of hers. He’s brought her flowers and a nice shiny ring. So it’s all fine and dandy till the next time he gets angry. Stupid girl. I’ve got no patience with people like that.’ Cassie drained her glass and set it down hard on her table. ‘Another please.’ She set the new drink down more carefully, using a copy of Woman’s Realm as a coaster. ‘And what are you wearing for this Patrick? Not your usual trousers, I hope.’

  Kate pulled a face. Surely trousers were the most appropriate gear for a celebration for a motorbike? Sitting astride, and all that? ‘This.’ She shed her coat and rotated.