‘I know,’ The Duke said. ‘It’s bollocks. But if Nigel Broom gets a whiff of Jamie getting involved, it’s him that will suffer. Not me, or you.’
Seeing her about to try again, Carver threw her a warning look. ‘It’s alright, Jess. You don’t need me for this. There’s plenty of experience here and besides, there are other reasons why I ought to keep out of it.’
For a moment she looked blank, but then thought she saw where he was coming from. ‘I’m sure Rosanna would-.’ She stopped as she caught his glare. ‘Okay. If that’s what’s you both think.’
A long look passed between Carver and The Duke. It ended with the two men nodding to each other.
‘I need to catch Mikayel before he goes,’ The Duke said, and moved away.
When he was out of hearing, Jess rounded on Carver, angry. ‘What was all that crap about? Any other time he’d be telling Nigel Broom to piss off and mind his own business.’
Carver made a calming gesture. ‘While I’m working for NCA, it is Broom’s business. And right now The Duke’s got other things on his mind. Have you ever heard him talk like that before?’
Jess looked across the room to where her boss towered over Kahramanyan’s diminutive figure. ‘Now that you mention it, no.’ She turned back to Carver. ‘Cathy?’
Carver nodded. ‘He rang me this morning. She may not last as long as the doctors said she would. The last thing he needs now is an internal wrangle with the likes of Nigel Broom. For his sake I’m staying out of it.’ Then he added, ‘Officially.’
She seemed to take his meaning but still gave an exasperated shake of the head. ‘Today’s modern Police Service. Politics and bloody bullshit. Now we can’t even let our best investigator get involved in helping to catch a homicidal maniac. Madness.’ She spun on her heel, about to walk away.
‘ Jess.’
She stopped.
‘Ring me later. Let me know what happens.’ She nodded, then went to join the rest of her team.
Alec Duncan materialised at Carver’s side. Carver could tell from the way the DS’s eyes followed his departing DI, he had been following the conversation. Carver let out a long breath.
‘Watch her back, Alec. And don’t let her expose herself. I’m not sure yet about this lot.’
‘Will do Boss.’
CHAPTER 19
It was lunchtime. The Starbucks on the corner of Oxford Road and Charles Street was as packed as it always is at that time. As Lucy picked up her tray, she spotted a man wearing a dark suit making ready to vacate one of the window stools. Weaving her way through the queues for orders, collections and milk, she slid onto the seat almost before he was out of it, prompting a huffy, ‘In-my-grave-next?’ look. She flashed what she hoped would pass for an apologetic smile before turning to her lunch and letting out a weary sigh.
It was coming on the end of term and the morning had been even more hectic than usual. Despite the crowded surroundings she welcomed the temporary respite from the lecturing staff’s endless demands for reading notes, student assessments and the latest updates concerning next year’s curriculum. When she’d applied for the role of ‘College Administrative Assistant’ her friend at her previous work told her the job would be fairly leisurely, that all she would have to do all day would be prepare the odd letter, write up timetables and make tea. Wrong.
But at least things weren’t too bad at home at present. Her mother seemed to have rallied of late and didn’t seem as tired as she had been. And it was over a week since her father last complained of some imaginary condition that required them to call out the night-locum GP. Their name must be mud at the surgery by now. Maybe it’s the weather, she thought as she gazed out at the bustling crowds in their short sleeves and summer dresses. Eventually she remembered the time and came to. She had less than an hour for lunch and needed to get to Boots for her father’s prescription.
She picked up her blueberry muffin and bit into it. But it was over-fresh and as the dough crumbled in her hand, half of it fell to the floor.
‘How annoying.’ A man’s voice, right next to her. ‘You should try the flapjack.’
Torn between looking down to see if any of it was worth saving or right to see who had spoken, right won. She looked round into eyes that were… strange, but fitted well with the nervous-seeming smile. At first glance she thought he was getting on a bit. But then she realised he wasn’t as old as he looked; recovering from an illness maybe? His features were dark, not bad looking if a bit on the gaunt side, and with a vague hint of… where? Not English that was for sure. She was certain he hadn’t been there when she sat down, she would have noticed. She tried to look annoyed at having lost half her lunch, but as she never managed a full muffin anyway, it wasn’t easy.
He raised his plate, offering his flapjack for her inspection. ‘They are very nice. And they do not fall apart.’
Definitely foreign, Lucy thought. The way he rolled his ‘r’s. But she was already beginning to panic, the swirling, fluttery feeling arriving right on cue.
Who was he? Had she seen him before somewhere? What was he after? What should she do?
She gave him a look intended to let him know she wasn’t the sort of woman who talked to strange men. But as the initial reflex telling her she ought to get up and leave, right now, subsided a little, she had to admit. He wasn’t that strange. Alright he had a bit of a wild look about him. And those eyes. But the smile seemed genuine, his clothes were clean enough – at least what she could see of them under his long coat - and though he wasn’t crowding her too much, she was wary. She was always wary.
‘Do I know you?’
‘No, but I have seen you here before.’ The smile again.
She mouthed an, ‘Oh,’ and went back to what was left of her lunch, staring intently out the window, pretending not to be conscious of his stare. She hoped she wasn’t flushing the way she usually did.
But after a couple of minutes she could stand it no longer. The best form of defence. She turned to him.
‘Do you want something?’
The smile melted at once, replaced by a look of hurt innocence. His hands came up, defensively. ‘I am sorry. I am just being the… friendly. I didn’t mean anything.’ Suddenly he was like a little boy being railed at by his mother for dropping crumbs. And Lucy knew she had overreacted. Again.
‘I- I’m sorry. It’s been a bad morning.’
‘It seems to be so.’ He turned away from her, back to his flapjack. ‘In that case I will not bother you further.’
Not too determined then.
As she studied his profile, her sense of guilt tempted her to say something that would recover the situation. Why? What good would it do? You know it would be a waste of time. But just then he reached out for the magazine someone had left on the bar, and she knew it was, in any case, too late.
The familiar feeling of despondency washed over her. Biting her bottom lip, she turned around on her stool again. The last thing she had been expecting on such a bright, sunny day was a reminder of just how futile her life was at present. And just when she was thinking things may be improving.
Though she tried, she couldn’t finish her coffee. After a few minutes she rose from her seat, making sure she kept her eyes downcast so she wouldn’t have to look at him as she left, ashamed of the way she had reacted. Is this how it will always be?
But as she passed the window in front of where he was sitting, heading for Boots, she sensed his gaze upon her. For some reason she had the feeling he was smiling.
CHAPTER 20
The sun was disappearing behind the apartment blocks lining Salford Quays as Carver headed back to his office. A few minutes before he had dropped Kahramanyan off at his hotel to freshen up, before they met up again later to take him for something to eat. As they parted, the psychiatrist asked if anyone would be joining them.
‘Your lady colleague, Jess, perhaps?’
Carver raised an eyebrow. You not-so-old fox. ‘I’ll ask her.’
&n
bsp; But as he made his way through the evening rush hour, he had other things on his mind than livening up their guest’s evening.
Though he’d talked it through with The Duke beforehand and had been at pains not to make an issue of it, having to walk out and leave the rest of the SMIU team to their planning had been a whole lot harder than he had imagined. Such investigation planning was his forte. And in all his service he hadn’t felt as ineffective as he did right now. A detective unable to do what he does best.
Despite his slump, part of him, the analytical side maybe, was working hard to resist the unthinkable conclusion. That his CID career was over and that he was destined to remain stuck behind a desk until he gave in and put himself up for promotion. Since leaving Kahramanyan he’d been engaging in an internal dialogue, cross-examining himself like some schizophrenic barrister.
What’s the matter with you? You know you’re a good detective. So does everyone else.
He remembered Nicholas Whitely, at the abortive Crime Committee meeting the week before. Okay, not quite everyone.
But there’s no reason to throw the towel in. Like Jess said, ‘It’s just politics and bullshit.’ You don’t have to prove anything. You’ve been there. Done it. Lots of times. So you have to keep your head down for a while. So what? It’ll do no harm. Probably a good thing. After all that’s happened, it makes a lot of sense.
NO IT BLOODY DOESN’T, he came back at himself.
It only makes sense if you’ve given in to all this, ‘Good for your career,’ crap. Since when did you worry what’s good for your career? Desmond Wilkins wasn’t caught because you were thinking about your prospects. Nor Anne Kenworthy. And Edmund Hart certainly wouldn’t have come if you’d been pussy-footing around, treading on eggshells.
Catching criminals. Rapists and killers. That’s what drives you, Carver. Not worrying about what other people think. That wasn’t why you became a detective. The case-file in your bottom drawer is why you do what you do. The people who do that sort of thing. They’re why you chose CID over Traffic. So what if you end up back on Division? It’s where you came from. And there’s plenty of work there. Okay, not as interesting as SMIU perhaps, but at least it’s real policing - apart from all the performance and targets bollocks you have to deal with these days. But you can manage that. You’ve done it before. Better than being treated like a bloody liability.
He checked his watch. Jess still hadn’t rung. Probably still at it.
He imagined them, sitting around, brain-storming lines of enquiry, Jess writing them up on a flip chart, like she had done with him, many times. And he thought of the ideas he had come up with as he’d driven Kahramanyan to the hotel, mainly in silence he’d realised after. No wonder the man hoped Jess might join them for some dinner. He probably thought Carver was a right miserable sod. He wondered how close the two lists – SMIU’s and his own - may be. He suspected - arrogantly he knew, but what the heck - his would be longer.
He huddled over the wheel, animated by the ideas bouncing round his brain. He checked his watch again. There was probably still time. He could head back there right now and see how they are doing; pass on some of his thoughts. Tell them he couldn’t give a flying fuck about Nigel Broom and his dire warnings, that he can help them with the Durzlans, and this Danelian character as well. He could already sense him, smell him almost. If he comes anywhere near, I’ll suss him. It’s what I’m good at. He thought about what he’d say to The Duke. I’ll tell him-.
The Duke.
If Carver did get involved now, Broom wouldn’t stop with him. Within twenty four hours – probably less – he would be making waves in NCA and with SMIU’s Joint Chiefs, complaining that The Duke had ignored his – entirely reasonable – request not to involve Carver. Waves like that had a habit of spreading rapidly in the police service. He’d seen it before, experienced it. And the way The Duke’s life was right now, with Cathy, he could go under. It was the last thing Carver wanted on his conscience.
The enthusiasm that had suddenly come over him abated as quickly. He eased his grip on the steering wheel, settling back into his seat again. It was no good. Right now there was nothing he could do but bite the bullet.
On the passenger seat next to him, his mobile started ringing. It would be Jess. About to reach for it, he hesitated, unsure about receiving her update without being able to contribute something - assuming the items on his list weren’t on hers. There you go again. So bloody arrogant.
He looked in the mirror and tried laughing at himself. But as he saw the haunted look reflected in his eyes, he realised. He was behaving like a sulking schoolboy. And Jess wouldn’t hesitate to tell him so.
He checked the mirror again, this time to make sure the car behind wasn’t fitted with roof lights before flipping the phone’s cover back, and hitting ‘accept’ and the loudspeaker icon. At the same time he made ready to tell her how he’d wound himself up. She would think it amusing, hilarious even.
But in the same instant he accepted the call, his brain registered the fact that the name on the screen he’d barely glanced hadn’t read ‘Jess.’
‘Je-Hello?’
‘Jamie?’
‘Rosanna. What’s up?’
Silence.‘You said you would ring. To let me know what you are doing.’ Noises in the background. Yelling and banging.
Oh, shit.
‘I was just about to. I, er-.’ What the hell is that racket?
‘No you weren’t. You thought I was Jess.’
‘GIVE IT ME.’ A child’s yell. It didn’t sound like Jack.
‘She’s supposed to be ringing with an update on something that’s all. I was about to call you. Is that Patsy?’
‘No. It’s Jason.’
Jason? Oh God.
In that moment, all the dilemmas they were still struggling to reconcile around taking over Jason’s custody from his maternal grandparents swooped back from whichever corner of his brain they had been lurking the past few days. And of the several issues he was juggling at present, he knew that his continuing inability to come up with a solution that the boy’s grandmother, Sue, didn’t regard as compromising on Jason’s education and development needs was, right now, his biggest failure. Rosanna was speaking again.
‘Sue dropped him off this afternoon. You didn’t tell me we were having him as well.’
Carver rubbed his temple. With everything he’d had to do to get ready for Kahramanyan arriving, he’d forgotten he’d agreed to take Jason for the weekend while Sue and Paul took in some London show for their anniversary. When she’d first raised it at the beginning of the week, he’d thought he may manage a couple of hours off and get home early - one of the advantages of not being operational.
‘I’m sorry. I forgot to tell you. I-.’ He cringed, knowing how weak it would sound. ‘I’ve been running round so much….’
She sighed into the phone. But before she could say anything, more screams in the background.
‘JASON. DON’T. Now look, you’ve hurt Patsy.’
‘I’ll come now,’ he said, guilt sweeping away other plans. If Jess was free he could call in a favour, ask her to look after Kahramanyan. He was sure he wouldn’t mind. ‘I’ll be home….’ he checked the time again. Rush hour was still at its height. ‘-In an hour.’ And pigs fly.
But she had a point to make.
‘How much longer Jamie? This is the third weekend we have looked after the children.’
‘I-. We’ll talk about it when I get home.’
More screaming.
‘This isn’t working.’
‘It won’t be much longer. I’ll be home soon.’
‘PATSY. DON’T.’
She hung up.
He let the phone fall back onto the passenger seat.
‘Bollocks.’
CHAPTER 21
Jess shoved the top back on the marker pen before running her eyes down the list one last time. It was some while since she’d added to it, and now the well seemed to have dried
. Which was annoying. She knew damned well that when she ran it past Jamie - assuming she got the chance to do so - it would take only minutes for him to come out with, ‘What about…?’ In the end, of course, it didn’t matter. She could spend all night trying to come up with other things that would need doing. He would still find something. All she could hope was, it wouldn’t be something too obvious, and therefore embarrassing. She liked to think she had learned something the past couple of years - apart from the obvious. Angling her chair towards the window - it was darkening outside - she leaned back, put her feet up on the desk and stared out, conscious it was something he used to do when he needed to let his thoughts drift.
Earlier, after the others had gone, The Duke had lingered, helping her pick at the couple of threads still to be tied off after their afternoon-long planning session. But even as he spoke about upping the priority on tracking down the Durzlan case-exhibits, Jess could see part of his mind was already elsewhere. ‘I thought you’re supposed to be seeing Cathy tonight?’ she said. His face said he was. ‘You get off. I’ll have the list on your desk by morning. We can go over it again then, fresh.’ For once, he didn’t argue. Now, she was conscious that after several hours of brainstorming, what-iffing, weighing options, and ringing round to see what manpower they could count on if a full scale man-hunt became necessary, she was having difficulty focusing.
Over on the horizon, the lights of the Old Trafford stadium signalled that Manchester’s most famous brand-name was playing at home that evening. It reminded her of her yet to materialise ‘date’. The week she arrived, Dave Rigg, a DI and the only Manchester detective on the team, had slung her a line, boasting about how he could get tickets ‘no problem’ if she fancied going some time. Not having set foot in a sports stadium since her Uni days, and never having been to a Premier League game, she’d surprised herself by accepting, then added, ‘But I’ll pay for my own ticket.’ Still finding her feet, she was wary about accepting favours, rightly as it turned out. She had heard since that Rigg was seeing a Fraud Squad DS. And when he told her what tickets went for these days, she wondered if she should have been a bit less hasty asserting her independence. Now, staring out, her thoughts drifted again to Jamie. They were doing so more and more of late.
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