Cut Out

by Marcia Woolf

  “Marry you? What’s that got to do with all this?”

  He sighed. “Nothing. Well, not directly. Look, I wasn’t going to do this here, now,” and he gave Dawn another glance that suggested she’d better not say anything else, “but I just want you to know that I’m serious about us. I don’t care if it means I have to leave the force.”

  Dawn yelped again, then dropped her head into her hands. I stared at him.

  “You’re going to leave the force so that we can get married?”

  “Yes. Well, no. If we get married, I’ll have to leave the force.”

  “And you seriously think I’m going to be responsible for your career going down the pan over this – this ridiculous, half-baked... Whatever makes you think I want to get married, let alone to you? Did I ever do or say anything to indicate that I wanted to do that? Well? Honestly, I thought we were just having fun. You know?”

  He just sat watching me, eyes twinkling like he was waiting for me to get the joke. In the end I shut up. Dawn raised her head and looked at Ollie, then at me, then back again.

  “Well? What’s it to be?”

  I found myself laughing, which must have been down to shock.

  “I’m not marrying this nutcase. In case you’d forgotten, I—”

  Sullivan reached over and put his hand across my mouth. He was smiling, but I still tried to bite him.

  “Hey! That hurt. I said, you don’t have to make your mind up now. Think about it.”

  Dawn shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. She doesn’t want to marry you. You’d be throwing away your whole career.”

  “Oh, thanks, Dawn.”

  She blushed. “I didn’t mean it like that. Not because of you.”

  We all sat looking at each other accusingly, but still trying to be polite, like when you’re in a lift and someone’s farted. Only in this case, we all knew the origin of the bad smell.

  “Ollie, let’s not talk about this now. Dawn’s embarrassed.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Okay, you’re not. But it’s hardly the right time to be discussing – It’s not really any of your business is it, Dawn?”

  “It damn well is. If Ollie resigns, they won’t let him walk without an exit interview. He’ll have to say it’s because he’s involved with you. There’ll be an enquiry because – well, let’s be frank – you have got a criminal record. Then they’ll want to know what I knew, as his partner. There’ll be a knock-on effect. I don’t want to get chucked off the force. They’ll find out you’ve been mixing it with the Nilsson case. That’ll invalidate the whole investigation. The CPS are going to be all over us, never mind Dame Sally up-her-own-arse Dannatt.”

  She glared at Sullivan as she said this, and all of sudden I heard a penny drop.

  “Sally Dannatt. Who’s that?”

  They exchanged police-officer looks.

  “Well? Don’t let me sit here in the dark. Come on.”

  Sullivan ran a hand through his hair and pointed at his notebook. “Sally Dannatt, acting head of Overseas Revenue Investigations at HMRC.”

  “So?”

  “So, she’s been sitting in on our investigation into Nilsson.”

  “Right. And she’s particularly scary, is she?”

  Dawn took a deep breath and leaned over the table towards me.

  “You can judge for yourself. You’ve met her.”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Black jacket, short dark hair? Opal earrings?”

  I began to get that feeling you have when you realise you’ve totally misunderstood. Like you’re in the wrong place with a map for somewhere else entirely, trying to find a feature on the landscape that isn’t there.

  “Are you sure?”

  “It’s her, Cookie. The question is, how did she know about you and Ollie, and more to the point, what is she up to? She’s management; not meant to do any hands-on stuff in the investigation, and it’s not a joint investigation anyway. She’s officially an observer.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  Sullivan frowned. “No, nor do we. It looks like there’s something going on up there,” he waved his hand around over his head. “Something they don’t want us handling.”

  “They?”

  “HMRC. It can’t be just a tax thing. There must be a serious Government concern about Nilsson.”

  “Something that’s not being disclosed to the police?”

  Dawn snorted. “Like they tell us anything.”

  “Yes,” I persisted. “But how does she know about us? Why is that relevant?”

  “Surveillance. Somebody’s ID’d you and tipped her off.”

  We looked at each other.

  “Well,” I said, “it wasn’t me. I can’t imagine it was Ollie. And before you hit me, Dawn, I don’t think it was you either: you’ve got skin in this particular game. So who else on the investigation?”

  Dawn snapped her fingers.

  “Ash Kumar. Got to be.”

  Ollie seemed surprised.

  “Why Ash? He’s not the only one on surveillance.”

  “No, but…”

  She blushed.

  “Ah.”

  “Ah?”

  Ollie scratched his ear.

  “Well?”

  “He’s made it plain – in the team meetings – that he thought you were...”

  “What?”

  “Attractive.”

  I appealed to Dawn but she was looking the other way, didn’t want to get dragged into it.

  “Oh, great. So you’ve all been sitting round ogling me going in and out of the bank, you two pretending you don’t know who I am and Ash what’s-his-face saying I’m attractive, so he decides to track me down, does some facial recognition software shit and comes up with the Cascarelli business? Wonderful.”

  Ollie shrugged. I got up and ran some cold water from the tap, half-minded to drink it and half-minded to chuck it at him.

  “And why would he tell the HMRC woman instead of confronting you about it?”

  Dawn sighed. “Career progression. Gold star on the chart. Kumar’s an ambitious little… there’s a lot of kudos in downing a senior officer on a thing like this. Two senior officers, even better. Wham bam, thank you, ma’am.”

  “And she hasn’t said anything to either of you, or anybody else? Don’t you think that’s weird? I certainly do. Why hasn’t she had the pair of you hauled in for a disciplinary hearing or something?”

  “Dunno.”

  Ollie stood up and went over to the window. We watched his back, waiting.

  “This is outside the scope of the operation.”

  “Sorry?”

  He turned to face us.

  “There’s something going on that’s bigger than this Nilsson investigation, something more important, further up the tree. Maybe Dannatt’s planning to use this information to put a stop to the operation, call off the dogs on Nilsson and say the case against him has been compromised.”

  “Because I got involved?”

  Neither of them said anything, but they hardly needed to. I picked up the Shiraz but it was empty. I fetched a bottle of whisky and three tumblers.

  “Have you heard any more about Jack’s parole?”

  Dawn’s head bobbed up.

  “Parole?”

  For a moment or two Ollie looked blank, like he thought I’d not been asking him. He was still standing by the window, one eye on the traffic below.

  “You haven’t answered my question,” he said.

  “What question?”

  “Will you marry me?”

  Not for the first time that day, I felt very uncomfortable, and I doubt I was the only one. Dawn shifted in her seat and pretended to read the label on the whisky. Then she slid the bottle away from her, like it wasn’t good enough.

  “What about Jack?” I asked.

  “I haven’t heard any more about his parole.”

  “I didn’t mean that.”

  “No, I know you didn�
�t.”

  “So?”

  Ollie was looking at me in the same way he’d looked when he arrested me two years before, standing there in that cold concrete underground car park with the strip lights blinking. It was a point of no going back, not even a crossroads, but a place where the door would close behind us – or between us – and never open again.

  “So what about him?”

  I looked up at the clock. It was dark already.

  “There’s something I need to tell you,” I said.

  He shrugged. There was a lot he didn’t know, but he’d never pushed it. All in my own good time, that’s what he’d said once. When you’re ready. Dawn rose from the table, Laphroaig untouched.

  “You don’t have to go.”

  She pulled on her jacket.

  “It’s late.”

  She gave us a half-hearted wave and pulled the door closed on her way out. Ollie strode off into the sitting room and I followed.

  “So what’s the story?”

  He leaned back on the sofa, legs stretched out as if he owned the place. I sat down next to him.

  “When I was in Chicago, for the reading of the will...”

  He smiled at me indulgently.

  “I can hardly wait.”

  I was in two minds whether to carry on. I was regretting the alcohol: he was way over the limit and whatever I said he was probably there for the night.

  “My mother had left a sort of codicil. A little letter, to be read out after the will.”

  “Exciting stuff.”

  He took another mouthful and swirled the remaining drink around in his glass, ostentatiously admiring the deep gold glow against the background of the imitation fire.

  “You’re not taking this seriously.”

  “I am. Go on. What was in it?”

  “She said my father – Hayden – wasn’t my father after all. I’m not Jack’s sister, I’m his half-sister.”

  Ollie stopped swirling and sat up.

  “Christ. Did she say who your father is?”

  I shrugged.

  “She must have said who he was! You can’t leave your own daughter in the dark like that.”

  “Apparently you can.”

  “But you must have an idea? I mean, you and Jack, you look like each other. Do you think she was lying?”

  “The point is, Ollie, that we both look like her. Anyway, it’s easily settled; we can take a test and find out if she was telling the truth or not.”

  “I can’t believe you’re being so calm about it. What did Jack say?”

  “Nothing. I haven’t told him yet.”

  The mention of telling Jack made me check my watch. It was well after four. It was Sunday. Why hadn’t he called? We sat there for a few minutes in silence. I had no idea how Ollie was going to react. My fear was that he’d think it was a good thing that my mother’s infidelity had somehow reduced the impropriety of my relationship with Jack, which I suppose it had if you see impropriety as something that can be watered down by cheating on your husband. Eventually he spoke up.

  “You have to tell him.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Isn’t that obvious?”

  “Not really. I don’t think it would improve the situation.”

  Ollie scowled.

  “I see.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “You’re just going to carry on with him...”

  I stood up.

  “Why don’t you watch TV? Make yourself at home: you know where everything is. I think you’d better sleep on the sofa tonight. You’re in no state to drive.”

  He stared at me, taking it in. I turned off the lamp, leaving us in the firelight. The phone started to ring.

  “That’ll be Jack. I’d better speak to him.”

  Ollie nodded, miserably. I patted his head on my way to the bedroom.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sunday 23rd/Monday 24th November

  Not What You Know

  “Hello Jack. How goes?”

  He gave a nervous little chuckle.

  “I’m okay. You? What’ve you been doing?”

  I hate Jack’s leading questions. Did he mean recently, generally or this afternoon? Whatever I said, he’d probably accuse me of misinterpreting, dissembling, being disingenuous.

  “Oh, you know. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

  Neither of us mentioned the funeral.

  “Right.”

  I hate it when he says that as well. Right. What was that supposed to mean? I knew from experience that taking it the wrong way could lead to all sorts of arguments. But I was still mad at him over the Dirk business and decided to go on the offensive.

  “If you must know, I had lunch at The Wharf We’re In. Bumped into an old friend of yours.”

  I could hear his brain flicking through its contacts section.

  “Friend of mine? In The Wharf?”

  “Yeah, an Australian girl. She works there, behind the bar.”

  The nervous laugh again.

  “I don’t know any Australian girls.”

  “That’s weird. She seemed to have very fond memories of you.”

  “Fuck off. I told you, I don’t know any Australians. What’s her name? What did she look like?”

  I shut my eyes for a moment and tried to remember what it had said on her name badge.

  “I think she was called Carly or something like that. Taller than me, long blonde hair with highlights. Ring any bells?”

  “No.”

  “That’s odd. She gave me the impression she knew you quite well. Come on Jack, surely you remember her: enormous tits, arse to match, bad taste in lipstick?”

  “You bitch. You cheating, lying, two-faced...”

  Well, that seemed to have evened the score. I hung up.

  I’d been asleep for a while when the phone rang a second time. I reached over and answered cautiously. Late night calls are seldom good news. At first I didn’t recognise the voice, although it was horribly familiar.

  “Cookie, hi. I’m sorry, it’s late to be phoning.”

  I sat up and switched on the bedside light.

  “Rudy? Is that you?”

  He laughed; embarrassed, hesitant.

  “What’s happened? Is Dora okay?”

  The door opened a few inches and Ollie stuck his head into the room. I waved at him to come in, and he perched on the side of the bed.

  “Dora’s absolutely fine. Absolutely. Everyone is fine.”

  “So why the call? You do know it’s nearly one in the morning here?”

  Ollie was frowning at me and gesturing, wanting to know who was on the line. I did the internationally-recognised hand-signal for lunatic.

  “I’ve been worried about you, Cookie. Since we were in the lawyer’s office...”

  I rolled my eyes at Ollie and did the lunatic hand signal again, a bit more vigorously.

  “Rudy, really. You have nothing to worry about. It was a shock but I’m over it. Please don’t concern yourself.”

  “It’s so unfair. I feel you’ve been treated very, very unfairly Cookie. You should take legal advice.”

  “Legal advice?”

  “Yes, about your inheritance. I’d like to help you.”

  Ollie was now leaning over, resting his head against my hand, listening in.

  “Help me to do what? Contest the will? I assure you Rudy, I’ve got no intention of doing that.”

  There was a silence. When he spoke again, Bannerman sounded offended, like I’d accused him of doing something unethical, out of synch with his professional code of conduct.

  “You should consider it more carefully. I’d be more than willing to help you get the right legal team. There’s a lot of money at stake: it’s millions of dollars.”

  “There’s also my relationship with Jack to consider. Look, Rudy, I’m sure you mean well but it’s the middle of the night and this is not something I want to discuss right now. Could we maybe speak tomorrow, or the day after?”


  “I’ve always been very fond of you, Cookie. You may not think so, but I’ve always had your best interests at heart. I hate to see you being treated badly. Your mother...”

  “My mother was a vindictive drink-sodden fruitcake, Rudy, in spite of all your counselling over the last thirty years. So I guess if you’d done your job a bit better she’d have behaved differently, but it’s too late for that. It’s too late generally. Good night.”

  Ollie didn’t need to say anything. He just raised his eyebrows.

  “What the hell do you think that was about?”

  He ran a hand through his hair.

  “Bit odd.”

  “He’s got a nerve. I can’t think why he wants me to get into a fight with Jack. There’s nothing in it for Bannerman, not unless he’s hoping to recruit me as his next victim.”

  Ollie lay back on the bed, hands behind his head, thinking.

  “Was he really your mother’s shrink for thirty years?”

  I nodded.

  “Since before I was born, that’s for sure. They were at school together. He was always hanging around. Even came on holiday with us a couple of times. Jack hates him. Used to call him ‘mother’s gin bearer’.”

  “You’d think he’d be trying to get her off the booze.”

  “Wouldn’t you? I suspect he was supplying her with other stuff as well. Prescription drugs.”

  “So why didn’t your father do something about it? He can’t have been happy with the situation.”

  I switched off the bedside light and settled down next to Ollie, resting my head against his chest. He made a little noise that I interpreted as satisfaction with the revised sleeping arrangements.

  “The thing is, Ollie, when my parents met, Dad had nothing. He was this ambitious just-out-of-college architect with big ideas and a very charming way with him. All tweed jackets and Irish blarney. My mother had the money. Papa Houlihan, her daddy, had the biggest construction business in Knoxville, Tennessee. He took Dad on to manage new developments in Chicago. Dad took a shine to the boss’s daughter: you can see where this is going. Papa died suddenly when I was four, leaving everything to my mother, including the business. Dad was effectively her employee.”

  “Wow. So she could do what she liked?”

  “And she did.”