by Cindy Crane
Police officers burst in on the group of teenagers. They bundled them into transit vans and hauled them all off to the station—girls in one van, lads in another. Frankie wept as they tore her away from him, tears staining her cheeks. She was frightened to death that both she and Jake were going to be arrested and charged with possession too; and terrified that her father would be overseeing the operation—which of course he was. But, in the end, there was nothing for her to worry about; she just got a warning—her father pulling strings. Then he grounded her until they left for his new job.
Jake wasn’t so lucky. A warrant to search his flat turned up the plastic bag full of drugs—so Richardson and Turner said. And Jake had no defence.
Turner had walked into this very room and thrown it at him. Jake’s natural reaction, to stop the bag from hitting him in the face, had been to catch it. Then, sitting motionless with the bag in his hands, he’d watched the smirk spread across Turner’s face as he said,
“Well now, look what’s got your fingerprints all over it. And guess where we’ve just found it.” Jake just looked stupidly at the man as Turner thrust his face at him. “In your flat. Tucked away under your bed. You shouldn’t have screwed around with the inspector’s daughter because you are now the one most definitely screwed.”
Of course, there’d been no one else in with them; and no tape. After all, as far as everyone else was concerned, he was just helping with enquiries. Then Richardson came in and, before they’d finished, the pair of them had him over a barrel with their threats. What made it worse, the bag of drugs was part of the bad batch out on the streets. They’d secreted it away for their evil plan. Then, after Jake tried saving the girl’s life, they even used that against him—prepared to do him for murder.
Turner had been the first officer on the scene, ironically in the control room when the 999 call had been received. He’d taken the needle, knowing Jake’s prints were all over it: Jake was in the middle of telling the paramedics that he’d removed the needle before trying to revive her, when Turner arrived. The paramedics hadn’t bothered looking for it—they were too busy working on the girl.
Turner busied himself round the flat, doing what police officers in that situation would be doing—looking for clues, looking for evidence, and formulating a plan to entrap Jake further. He would make definitely sure that when the needle was recovered, it would look as though Jake had tried to dispose of it—unless he agreed to stop seeing Frankie, and agreeing to cut all ties.
She was going away with her parents in a few days, and he had to agree never to contact her again. Once he did that, they’d smooth everything over. They’d make sure the gang, who were totally responsible for the drugs, would be dealt with, and Jake’s phantom part in it all would disappear. After all, it was only Richardson and Turner who were a party to the knowledge.
Sitting alone in the bleak, grey room, Jake could still see Frankie’s father leaning back in his chair across from him; Turner behind him. Both were thin lipped and steely eyed, and so intimidating. He was bricking it. But nevertheless he tried to bluff his way out, threatening to tell their superiors and get a lawyer who’d prove his innocence if they went through with their threats.
The laugh his response evoked was more chilling than all their threats combined. They’d worked together too long, been friends too long, and had Frankie’s interests too much at heart—whether she wanted it or not. And they’d both made up their minds she wasn’t going to get hooked up to a piece of shit like him. It didn’t matter that he’d never touched drugs, unlike his mother. Or that he was the one who cared for his alcoholic father; the one who worked hard to pay the rent and the bills, and to put food on the table.
Like father, like son, they said. It would only be a matter of time. As far as they were concerned, he was the lowest of the low. And Frankie was meant for better things—certainly not spending her life waiting for a prison lag. Even when Jake threatened to tell her about their set-up, they had the evidence so well sewn up; it would only confirm what a liar he was—not just to the courts, but to her too.
They had him totally by the balls. They’d fabricated the story so well; he was in a no-win situation. Tell her and he was damned. Don’t tell her and he was still damned.
When they finally let him go, it was to cow-tow to all their demands. He was to persuade Frankie to go with her family and then sever all ties.
It had broken his heart, especially when he promised to come for her, knowing he never would. Richardson had been right about one thing. He’d never let Frankie ruin her life waiting for him to serve a prison sentence. Especially the sort they had in mind.
But it hadn’t made him feel any better about it.
Even now, sitting here twelve years later, it still felt as though he’d done it to save his own skin.
Chapter 24
Frankie was pacing the pavement.
She’d already been to the Reception desk three times.
Three times she’d been told DS Turner was dealing with the matter for another force. He’d call when he could, and in the meantime, she should go home.
But she couldn’t. Not when Jake needed her. Whatever her godfather was telling her, she knew it was all lies.
She rang her father.
He wasn’t home.
Her mother said he was working. He’d be out all night—a special job.
So she tried his mobile.
All she got was voicemail.
She must have left half a dozen messages, all of the same ilk.
Ring me.
I need to know what’s going on with you and Jake.
What did you do to him?
What are you still doing to him?
And why is Sam involved?
Try as she might, she couldn’t rid herself of the nagging thought— after Jake’s parting shot—that her father and godfather were anything but innocent parties in all this. Her heart was all over the place, her stomach a tangle of knots, and her head pounding with worry. What started out as a new beginning to her life was turning out to be a nightmare. And the more she thought about it, it was her father, the one who’d dragged her away all those years ago, who was turning out to be the biggest bogeyman of all, with Sam a close second.
Had they been responsible for the drugs and the missing needle just as Jake said?
Had they threatened him?
Had they made sure he’d never see her again?
Had they made him say those things—made him make promises he knew he’d never keep?
Her heart ached, remembering how he’d secretly come to her the night before she’d gone away. Her bags were packed but she was ready to run away with him instead. But he’d told her to go with her parents. That there were things going on in his life at the time, and he wasn’t able to take care of her as he wanted to do. But once these things were sorted, he’d come for her.
Her heart had sunk like a lump of lead into the pit of her stomach. She felt sick, let down, used. Maybe their relationship had been just about sex after all. And now it was time to commit, he couldn’t do it.
She didn’t want to cry but she couldn’t help it. She loved him and she didn’t want to leave him. She didn’t care if he couldn’t look after her. She’d get a job. They’d both work; get a place together. And she clung to him as if her life depended on it.
And he’d clung to her.
Then he cried too. And all her earlier fears evaporated. He did love her. He didn’t want her to go, but at least doing it this way, it gave them a chance to prove themselves to her parents; prove they were responsible adults.
It wouldn’t be for long.
Then he kissed her face, kissed her tears. She kissed him back. And they clung to each other—two frightened teenagers—as the spent their final night together.
If only she’d known.
Hope had swelled in her heart as they lay in each other’s arms, forging a bond between them that would never die.
He’d tried not to mak
e love to her. He wanted them to wait until they met again, when they could be together forever. He’d not even brought condoms—hadn’t wanted to give in to the temptation. But she’d worked her magic and his resolve wasn’t strong enough. Their final act of love had been total consumption: instinctive, just as nature intended, two bodies joined together in consummate pleasure.
He, giving every last drop of love he had to give.
And she, absorbing everything he gave to her.
Then they’d kissed, hard and long, holding onto each other until the time came for her to go.
She slipped out of his van at the end of her street. Then she slipped even more quietly through the front door. She could barely breathe as she passed the stacks of boxes, ready for transit. Then, as she finally reached her room, she gave in to sobs that racked her whole body.
She remembered her mother sitting by her. And laying a gentle hand on her shoulder, as Frankie wept into the pillow, she said, “One day you’ll thank your father. He’s done this for you.”
She’d thought she meant the promotion, the move, the extra income.
But she hadn’t.
She’d never truly understood—until now.
And it broke her heart to realise her mother had been a part of it too.
Chapter 25
Frankie’s heart leapt.
She was still kicking her heels, hugging herself against the chill riding the night air. A familiar figure was pushing against the glass door and stepping into the street. He looked tired and angry. But that didn’t stop his eyes scouring the darkness for her.
“Jake,” she cried, rushing to meet him and flinging herself into his arms.
He folded her to him, burying his face into her neck and shoulder, inhaling her scent.
God, she smelled so good—her skin, her hair. It was like coming home all over again. And knowing he had his freedom made it all the sweeter.
“They’ve let you go?” she hardly dared whisper. “It’s over?”
“It’s over,” he replied, barely able to disguise the crack in his voice. “I don’t know what you said to him, but he’s agreed not to fight us any longer.”
The big man had filled the interview room with his presence, imposing his authority with all the experience of his profession. And for a moment Jake had been that scared nineteen-year-old again. But it was only a moment. He was twelve years older and twelve years wiser now. Whatever hold Richardson had over him twelve years ago, Jake was determined he wouldn’t let it happen again. This time he was going to fight. Nothing they threatened him with this time would ever compare to the prison sentence they’d imposed on him back then. Living without Frankie, knowing how she hated him, had been the worst prison sentence of all. And like it or not, Frankie had still waited for him—just as he had her.
But instead of going straight for the kill, Frankie’s father sat quietly opposite him. He leaned back in the chair; arms folded, and stared at him, as if trying to make sense of it all.
Jake matched his look. His mouth was set in a grim line—just a muscle twitched in his jaw. He was going to have the bastard once and for all. He’d already set his plan in motion a few days ago when he’d had an informal chat with his solicitor. He’d not mentioned any names, but he’d made it very clear he may have a cause to fight—a fight against police corruption and falsifying evidence.
Richardson finally spoke. “DS Turner tells me you’ve kept your nose clean these past few years.” His words were clipped, cold, as though trying to keep one step ahead, determined to let him know exactly who was in charge—like last time.
Jake raised an eyebrow in surprise, questioning the stupidity of the remark. Strangely enough, his whole being was swathed in an incredible calm. There was only going to be one winner this time; and it was going to be Jake.
“Clean?” he scoffed. “It was never dirty in the first place.”
The veneer cracked a little. Sensing Jake’s inner strength, Frankie’s father took a deep breath, flaring his nostrils. He closed his eyes for a second, and then ran a hand over his tired face and into his hair, still thick but now iron grey—hard, like the man himself. Only in that moment, he didn’t look quite as tough as Jake remembered.
“You have to know I was only doing what I thought was best for my daughter,” he said. “Sam too. She was a child. She needed protecting. And she was getting into bad company.” As if explaining the reasons for his actions made them all right.
“None of it my doing,” Jake replied icily. “I was doing my best to protect her too.”
Richardson fixed him with a cold stare, surprised that he should have retaliated with the same verb he’d used. The boy had been nothing more than a young punk, stealing his daughter’s innocence and dragging her down to his street-level scum. But the now-grown man sitting before him, oozing the confidence of one who had been severely wronged wasn’t making it easy for him.
“But you didn’t come with the best of credentials. You have to allow me that.” There was the hint of hesitation in his voice, as if justifying his reasons for doing what he did.
Jake could hardly believe his ears. Was this the beginning of a climb-down? But climb-down or not, Jake wasn’t impressed. He wasn’t allowing him anything. The man had put him through hell with his corrupt policing. And he was still trying to lay the blame at his door. He gave a short, unamused laugh and gave his head a little shake of disbelief.
“Right, so just like that…” He clicked his fingers. “…I’m still expected to go along with your reasons. Accept your actions.”
He moved forward in his seat, leaning across the table, putting his face closer to Richardson ’s, his voice clipped and short. He wasn’t giving an inch. His face was tense with the anger he’d been bottling up for over a decade.
“You could have got to know me. But no, you allowed your prejudices to get in the way. Even now—this….” He indicated his present predicament with a disgusted sweep of his arm. “…What have you got lined up for me this time—a nice juicy murder? Oh, I forgot, you’d still like to put me in the frame for that overdose. Or am I still some sort of big drug dealer you can’t wait to frame?” He paused for a moment as his eyes narrowed. “There again, maybe you’re planning to parcel me up and dump me in the canal like you did the others—your way of dealing with the shit.”
Richardson momentarily caught his tongue. The boy had threatened him with that all those years ago; he’d been the one who’d reported the incident—anonymously, of course. He’d scared the lad half to death back then. He didn’t look such a push-over now: sitting there, all grown up, secure in himself, anger smouldering below the surface; yet well in control of his emotions. He was even a little arrogant, matching his coolness every step of the way.
Suddenly, Richardson knew it was time to let it go—Jake certainly looked a force to be reckoned with now. But old habits die hard, and he couldn’t help the hint of a smile that twitched, at the corners of his mouth, at the memory of the boy’s threat.
“I seem to remember you tried that one back then too,” he finally said.
Jake couldn’t believe his eyes or his ears, remembering the way Richardson had laughed in his face. The man had no conscience. Even after all this time, he still found it funny to have dumped a body into the canal. Though why it had never been discovered still remained a mystery. Maybe he had more working for him than Jake had originally thought. But before he had a chance to mention his discussion with his solicitor, and add that he wouldn’t get off so lightly this time, Richardson was already continuing.
“Well, I wouldn’t bother trying it again if that’s your intention,” he scoffed. ‘They weren’t bodies—only dummies. Sam and I agreed to plant them as part of a training exercise. We’d never killed anybody. But it made us laugh to make you think we had—and that you could have been our next. Maybe if you’d had the guts to follow it up then, you might have found that out for yourself.” He couldn’t resist the final dig: letting him know how he’d m
anipulated his fear.
Jake’s calm momentarily cracked. He jumped to his feet so fast the chair fell backwards. “You bastard,” he spat at his arrogance, glad the table separated them. He’d never gone down the road of violence, but at that moment he could have happily planted his fist in that smirking face.
“Well, yes, I’ve been called that a few times,” the older man said. He indicated the fallen chair with a heavy sigh. “Sit down, Jake. I know we played dirty, but it was for her.”
The veneer slipped again. Tiredness was creeping into his voice but he still needed to show Jake who was boss—at least for a little while longer. It was draining away fast, and he needed to cling onto it for as long as he could.
Jake shook his head in disgust as he picked up the chair and sat down again—not because Richardson had told him to, but because he needed to make a point too. He leaned across the table again.
“She was a kid. I was a kid. We loved each other. Still do. How could you have done that to us? How could you have threatened to fix evidence like that? Maybe I didn’t go to prison, but I’ve served a life sentence anyway. And despite everything you did, so has Frankie. After all, she still waited for me.”
“That’s what she said too,” Richardson said slowly, reflectively. “And she’s still waiting. Out there now.” He indicated the outside and gave a short laugh. “She gave me both barrels.” Then he laughed again. “That’s twice in one day. Her mother gave me the first set before I set off. Told me to keep out of it this time, and to put things right instead.”
“And?” Jake’s heart almost stopped, the wind suddenly taken out of his sails. Was he hearing right—the big man backing down, and all Jake’s plans to kick up a stink no longer needed?
Richardson got to his feet and put out a hand. “No hard feelings, eh? For Frankie’s sake. Remember, I did it for her.”
Jake got to his feet too but kept his hand firmly by his side. He couldn’t believe the man. He was saying it was all over—just like that—and expecting him to just accept it.