Cut Out

by Marcia Woolf

  “You are preserving the integrity of two highly-regarded Metropolitan Police officers.”

  “And this Dannatt woman: she comes out of it virgin white as well? I mean, it seems to me that she’s been making the Met’s finest look like body doubles in a Where’s Wally? contest.”

  Bassinet coughed.

  We sat in silence for a couple of minutes while I had the opportunity to review the terms of the arrangement. It was a waste of time. What choice did I have?

  “Under the circumstances, I accept your very generous offer.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Wednesday 3rd December, Evening

  Seeing the Wood and the Trees

  In the taxi on the way back to Canary Wharf I got a phone call from Dirk. I expected him to say they were en route for Chicago, but it turned out that he wanted to say goodbye to me. He had a table booked, he said, for five of us. “You and me, Dora, Ollie Sullivan and Dawn Sayler.”

  “Okay.”

  “You don’t sound keen. Don’t worry, I won’t mention our discussion from yesterday.”

  “I should hope not.”

  “Cookie, for what it’s worth, Dora and I had a long discussion last night when we got back to the hotel. It was just a bit unnerving, you know, hearing you talk about it like that. But you are very cool in a crisis. I can imagine you trying to hold the family together. What you did was wrong, but we understood why you did it.”

  “Well, somebody had to. I used to feel I was the only adult in the family. So are you going to check it out with Jack? See if our stories tally in every detail?”

  There was an offended silence before Dirk said, “If I did that, it would mean I didn’t believe you.”

  The cab dropped me off and I went inside to change. While I was doing that, I thought about Jack. Another visit was in order. This time I wouldn’t be fobbed off: he had to tell me about the Mercedes and the shooter at The Anchor. It’s not nice to think that your own brother would try to have you killed. Especially not a brother you’re that close to. I zipped up my dress and slipped on a pair of red heels. A killer outfit if ever there was.

  When I arrived in the hotel bar, the others were already halfway through their drinks. Ollie was telling them a joke, and he hit the punchline just as I got to the table. Dirk stood up and offered me his seat, and I slid along the leather bench next to Dora. Ollie caught my eye, looking distinctly guilty. He knew all about my little chat with his boss. The waiter put a gin Martini in front of me and I took a tiny sip. I was determined to play it cautious: no getting swept away into another close encounter with Ollie. Dawn took a slurp of Coke and settled back in her seat, looking pleased with herself. I was just about to enter into some small talk about the flight times back to the US when Dirk leaned forward and patted Dawn’s hand. I wondered what the hell he was doing, but he spoke before I could even begin to ask; a big jolly boom of an enquiry.

  “So Dawn, when’s the baby due?”

  I spluttered Martini all over my lap.

  “Baby!”

  Dora handed me a napkin with such aplomb it felt like I was taking part in a comedy sketch. Everyone burst out laughing, especially Dawn, who must have realised quite some time previously that I really hadn’t joined all the dots. Dirk put his arm round me.

  “Cookie, don’t say you hadn’t noticed!”

  “How long?” I asked.

  “Nearly six months. I’m going off duty in eight weeks.”

  I was speechless.

  “Didn’t you notice I’d stopped drinking? Don’t tell me you just thought I was getting fat?”

  “Yes,” I managed, eventually.

  Another round of laughter. Dawn was wiping the tears from her eyes.

  “You silly mare,” she said. Then she leaned towards me and lowered her voice. “We found out a while ago that Geraldine can’t have kids, so it was down to me. Who’d have thought it, eh?”

  I must have looked completely stunned, because Dirk asked if I was okay, and all I could say was yes. What a fool. After a minute or two I reached over and took hold of Dawn’s hand.

  “I’m sorry. I was so wrapped in myself. How could I have not noticed?”

  She smiled and patted her bump.

  “It’s okay. She won’t take offence.”

  “She? You know it’s a girl?”

  “Yep. Got the nursery all painted out. Got a few names lined up, ones we like. Just have to wait and see what suits her.”

  “Oh, God. I’m so happy for you, Dawn, and for Geraldine. It’s great news.”

  Ollie winked at her.

  “Dawn, I don’t suppose you’ve got Charlotte on that list of baby names, have you?”

  She turned to face him, not quite sure whether he was joking. Her eyes widened, appalled at the suggestion. Then she spotted the tiny upturn of his mouth, and began to roar with laughter.

  Inevitably, with good news to celebrate, I abandoned my vow to stay sober and away from the arresting charms of Ollie Sullivan, though I was still angry with him. He helped me out of the taxi and paid the driver.

  “You’ll never get another cab at this time of night,” I pointed out.

  “That’s okay, I’m not going anywhere.”

  He steered me towards the lift and pressed the button. He ran a finger down my neck.

  “It’ll be Christmas soon,” he said.

  “It will. You doing anything special?”

  The lift doors opened and we slid inside, already joined at the mouth and hip.

  “I hope so. I’d like to be doing this.”

  I felt a hand slip delicately up my thigh.

  “Stop. Someone might see us. Can’t you wait?”

  “Don’t want to.”

  I pushed him away as the doors opened, and strode ahead of him towards the flat. He trotted behind.

  “Hang on! Hey, you’re not mad at me are you?”

  “Of course not. I like being stitched up and my life put in danger. Let’s have more of it.”

  He caught up with me as I tried to get my key into the lock and folded his arms round me again. It was impossible, pointless. I let him kiss me. The keys dropped from my hand, pinged strangely on the wooden floor, and when I looked down they had vanished.

  “Ollie, where’re the keys?”

  We both stared at the floor, uncomprehending. Then I worked it out.

  “Oh no. How the hell did that happen? They must have bounced under the gap. They’re on the other side.”

  I started to laugh at the absurdity of it. Ollie dropped to his knees and tried to get a finger under the door.

  “I can see them. They’ve not gone far. We need something to hook them. What’s in your handbag?”

  “Lipstick, credit card, phone, some loose change and a couple of notes, a comb...”

  “Comb!”

  I handed it over and Ollie wiggled it under the door and swished it back and forth.

  “Sod it. They’ve gone further inside. What else have you got?”

  “Oh, I have a full housebreaking kit. What do you think I keep in there?”

  “What we need is something like a wire coat hanger.”

  “I don’t have one of those.”

  He struggled to his feet and looked around the corridor.

  “We’ll have to ask a neighbour.”

  “It’s midnight. Anyway, Stella’s gone away for the week and I’m not exactly on friendly terms with the Carpenters. Can’t you think of something else?”

  He patted his pockets.

  “Pen. If I attach this to the comb, then it would be long enough. Got an elastic band?”

  “What do you think I am, Sullivan? Fucking Ryman’s? Here, you can use this.”

  I began to roll down a stocking.

  “Good thinking! I might have to rip it though, tear off a piece.”

  “Whatever you have to do. And be quiet will you? I don’t want the Carpenters coming out to see what’s going on. They’ve already reported me to the management committee.”


  I shivered in the hallway, one leg over-exposed to the night air, while Ollie cobbled together his breaking and entering device. The first attempt fell apart as soon as he tried it, but the second time he managed to hitch the keys and drag them out.

  “Thank God. Now can we go inside please? I’m freezing to death.”

  He unlocked the door and, before I could do anything about it, he picked me up in his arms and carried me over the threshold. I slid my feet to the floor.

  “What was that all about?”

  He grinned.

  “Just practising.”

  I sighed and headed towards the bedroom.

  “Ollie, we’re not getting married. I told you. It’s not going to happen.”

  I heard him go into the kitchen and run a glass of water.

  “You’ll change your mind. You need me. Look how helpful I was just now at getting those keys.”

  I rolled my eyes and took off my coat and the other stocking.

  “Give up. Just give up, okay? Anyway, tomorrow I’m going to see Jack. I’ve got some questions for him.”

  Ollie came and leaned against the door jamb, watching me undress.

  “That’s a hell of an outfit,” he said.

  “Are you just going to stand there enjoying the show?”

  He sat on the bed and began unlacing his shoes.

  “So why did the Carpenters report you to the management committee?”

  “If you must know, they thought I was getting too many visits from the police.”

  Ollie looked up, concerned.

  “Really?”

  I winked. “Don’t worry. As far as I’m concerned, you can come as often as you like.” As I said that, a thought struck me.

  “Ollie? About Dawn’s baby.”

  “What about it?”

  “I suppose it was artificial insemination?”

  He shrugged.

  “I guess so. I hadn’t thought about it.”

  “Do you think they went to one of those clinics – sperm donor places?”

  He shook his head.

  “No idea. It’s a bit too personal: not the sort of thing we’d talk about. Maybe they got a friend to help them out.”

  “You didn’t...?”

  He stared at me for a moment, and then started to laugh, really loudly. He fell back on the bed and started thumping it with his fist, completely hysterical. Eventually he managed to speak through the tears streaming down his face.

  “You’re mad. Crazy woman!”

  Then he was off again, loud enough to have one or other of the Carpenters knocking on the door. I threw a cushion at him.

  “It’s not that funny! Shut up. Shut up!”

  “You’re jealous, aren’t you?” he shrieked, wiping his eyes, “Good God – you seriously think Dawn and Gerry would want me – me! – to father their child?”

  I threw another cushion and then a shoe, then the other, but every missile seemed to make it worse, and in the end I locked myself in the bathroom and started removing make-up. Annoyingly, he carried on laughing on the other side of the door long enough for me to get down to natural.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Friday 5th December

  A Secret

  Dawn rang the buzzer early and surprised me in my dressing gown.

  “Sorry, did I wake you up?”

  “No. I was contemplating my navel.”

  She looked alarmed.

  “Christ, Ollie’s not here, is he?”

  I yanked her back over the threshold.

  “No. Come in. What’s happening? I’ll make us breakfast if you like.”

  She waddled behind me into the kitchen.

  “Leach. His wife opened a letter that arrived at the house on Thursday morning. It was addressed to Mr S Leith, so she thought it was a typo.”

  “And? Go on. What’s the significance?”

  “Mr Leach and Mr Leith are one and the same.”

  “For what?”

  “For a visit to an HIV clinic.”

  “You’re not serious?”

  Dawn pulled out a chair and dropped into it.

  “Sadly, yes. Seems he went for a test at this place up in Walthamstow. Obviously wanted to keep it quiet. Unfortunately, he didn’t think to give them a false address. The clinic sent a follow-up letter offering counselling.”

  “Positive?”

  “Yep. He got the result over the phone the morning he killed himself.”

  I sat down too.

  “Poor guy. But why?”

  “Oh, the usual. Can’t face his wife. Worried sick he’s infected her. Fear of admitting he’s been lying to her. Thinks he’ll lose his job, lose his friends, lose contact with his kid...”

  She stirred a spoonful of sugar into her coffee. Even though I hadn’t much liked Leach, I felt terrible. That’s the trouble with lying. One thing leads to another.

  “So what’s the thinking, now, on the archive box?”

  Dawn raised her eyebrows.

  “You still think it was Susie’s body in the box?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “If it was something else in there…”

  “Like what? Papers? Files? So where are these hypothetical papers? What happened to the box? There was nothing at Leach’s house.”

  “I know. But if there had been a body in that box, I’m sure either Lorenzo or the storage company guys would have been aware of it. What did they say about it?”

  “They all said it felt like an archive box full of papers.”

  “So maybe it was. You know, the problem with new technology is that is leaves a trace. How much does your department spend in a month recovering data? Hunting through stuff on hard drives and looking for deleted emails? If I were defrauding anybody, if I had to keep anything in writing, I’d keep as much information as possible on paper. Once that’s destroyed, what have you got?”

  We sat quietly for a few minutes. Dawn looked tired: not long to go till she went on maternity leave and I knew she’d be keen to get this case cleared up before that happened. I took the bacon out of the fridge and started to heat the grill.

  “Dawn, supposing Susie was killed somewhere else?”

  “But the murder weapon was that trophy thing we found in the store room.”

  “So? It might have been put back there.”

  “Put back there? After being used to kill her somewhere else?”

  “I don’t see why not. If you’re going to hide it, that’s a handy place, in amongst a load of similar things.”

  The bacon sizzled under the heat. I sliced some bread.

  “Are they unique?”

  “What? My bacon sandwiches? No, but they’re pretty good.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “The trophies.”

  “Oh, my God. That’s it!”

  “What?”

  “No, they’re not unique at all. Everybody who works on a deal gets the same one. I told Ollie that. Why the hell didn’t he pick up on it? Whoever worked on that deal – anyone senior enough, I mean, not the real juniors or the secretaries – would have got an identical tombstone.”

  “So whose are the ones in the store?”

  “I don’t know. Look, some people really value them, especially if it was a big deal or a first deal or – you know, especially significant. But the senior guys tend to get blasé and just stuff them in a drawer – or in a store room. Probably some of them are Henning Nilsson’s and others belong to people in the bank, like Leach. That’s what you need to find out: who was given a trophy the same as the one that killed Sam Dillon?”

  “How does that help? I mean, anyone could have picked it up and used it as a weapon.”

  “If she was killed in the store room, yes. Did you find anything to indicate she was killed in the store, other than the blood on the trophy?”

  “No. We're waiting on forensics.”

  “Right, then. So if she was killed somewhere else, then whoever killed her could have swapped thei
r trophy for the one in the store.”

  “So any DNA would be on the store-room copy, and their own trophy would be clean.”

  “Exactly. I think that’s a major step forward in your investigation, DI Sayler.”

  She jumped up

  “Right, I’m off.”

  “You’ve not had your breakfast.”

  “No. Sorry. By the way, your bacon’s burning.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Friday 5th/Saturday 6th December

  Deep and Crisp and Even

  In the morning I paid a visit to Clive Godwin. He was on his own.

  “Donna’s gone Christmas shopping. She’ll be sorry she missed you.”

  I doubted that. Well, I suppose she might have wanted the chance to slap my face over the National Insurance business, but I’d have deserved it.

  “Clive, I know you’re not a lawyer, but...”

  “Oh, God.”

  He sat down and pointed me to a chair on the other side of the desk.

  “I wanted to get your opinion, before I go to Pinckney. It’s about my mother’s will.”

  “Yes, I had a chat with Dirk. I understand there’s been a development.”

  “A development! That’s nice. What did Dirk tell you?”

  “He explained about Mr Houlihan’s role in your conception.”

  If I wore glasses, at this point I’d have been looking at Clive over the top of them.

  “Good. So the question is...”

  “Does this mean you have more of a claim on the inheritance?”

  “Quite. You must have come across this sort of thing before, Clive. Well, maybe not exactly the same circumstances, at least I hope not, but do you think I’d get anywhere?”

  He frowned.

  “I think you’ve probably got a good case for a legal challenge, but it would ruin things between you and Jack. I assume you’ve considered that?”

  I nodded.

  “In that case, you need a good lawyer. It won’t be cheap, and there is a possibility you’d lose, which wouldn’t be cheap either.”

  “I don’t do cheap, Clive.”

  He smiled.

  “I’m not quite clear on the motivation behind all this, Cookie. Look, it’s not as if you’re going to struggle financially. Even if you and Jack go your separate ways...” He tailed off, and looked at me kindly. I don’t suppose he wanted a fuss. Nobody ever likes a fuss, do they? Everybody wants a quiet life, no dramas.