The real questions were, why had he lied, and what did he know? So far there was nothing to show who would have had an interest in losing some of the exhibits, or why. And with so little to go on, it was too soon to start putting people like Gover on the spot. All he had to do was play innocent. There wasn’t even enough – yet - to arrest him on suspicion of perverting the course of justice, the favoured tactic of many cold-case investigators. And there was certainly no point trying to tackle the SIO at the time, Murphy, directly; not without something concrete to put to him. Carver needed more, though at that moment he wasn’t sure where it would come from. He had to dig deeper.
Gathering up the papers, he returned them to his bottom drawer and locked it. Then, with a sigh, he decided he ought to give his in-tray another try, and pulled it towards him.
CHAPTER 26
As the enquiry-desk buzzer sounded again, Lucy glanced up from her screen. Her colleague, Emma, was still on the phone, looking helpless and apologetic, as if talking to a legitimate enquirer she couldn’t get rid of. Not convinced for a second, Lucy sent her an admonishing look as she rose to see to who was at the desk. The two women who were the College’s Administration Support Unit rotated Enquiry Desk duties between them, hour on, hour off, but this was the third time Lucy had had to cover for Emma while she was ‘tied up’ on the phone. The way she’d been talking, in mainly hushed tones, Lucy was pretty sure who it was. When she’d arrived that morning Emma seemed out of sorts and had mentioned something about having had a ‘bad night’ with her boyfriend.
Despite her annoyance, as she walked round the frosted glass screen to the enquiry window, Lucy managed to stitch a smile to her face.
‘May I help you?’
He was standing with his back to her, hands thrust into the pockets of his long black leather coat, which is why she didn’t recognise him. But as soon as he turned she remembered. The man from Starbucks. The one with the strange eyes. As he saw her, his face registered, in quick succession, puzzlement, surprise then finally, recognition. A smile came into his face which she struggled to not return.
‘Hello again,’ he said. ‘I did not know you work here.’
Caught off guard, she wasn’t sure how to respond so as not to give off the wrong signal. But with no time to do anything else, she settled for a quick, confirming nod and a garbled, ‘Oh, yes.’ Then she stood there, waiting, remembering to keep her face straight in case he got the wrong idea.
As the silence lengthened – he was just standing there, staring at her - she felt herself starting to redden. Oh for goodness sake…. Eventually he spoke.
‘I am interested in enrolling on one of your English-language courses,’ he said. ‘Do you have a prosec… prosp-ec…?’
‘Prospectus?’
He nodded. ‘Yes. A prospec-tus. Thank you.’ His eyes were still rooted on hers.
‘One moment.’ She stepped back around the glass, grateful to be out of his sight while she attended to his request. Her heart was already pounding as she tried to take in the coincidence of him suddenly turning up there. What did he want with a language course anyway, she wondered? His English seemed fine to her. But even as suspicion formed, she realised she was being stupid, and admonished herself for over-reacting.
Ever since the call from Cyprus – she was yet to tell her mother, still worrying about what it would do to her - she had been on tenterhooks. Wary of strange faces. Afraid to answer the telephone. Suspicious of anyone she didn’t know looking her way. But apart from that one time at Starbucks, she had definitely never seen the man before. There was no reason whatsoever to fear him; at least not in that way.
As Lucy passed Emma’s desk, making her way to the cupboard where the prospectuses were kept, Emma put her hand over the phone. ‘Are you alright, Luce? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
Lucy glared at her over her shoulder, mouthing, ‘Sshh,’ while flapping her hand, wildly. Tell the world why don’t you?
Emma pulled a, ‘Get you,’ face and leaned sideways so she could check out who had sent her co-worker into such a spin. As she pulled back, she shot Lucy another glance. This time her face read, Impressed.
After rooting through the cupboard, Lucy returned to the window, throwing Emma another warning look as she passed. Emma grinned, hand still over her mouthpiece. Lucy could hear the man on the other end of the line calling, ‘Emm? Are you still there? Emm?’
‘These are all our language courses,’ Lucy said, remembering to keep her eyes down as she placed the pamphlet on the ledge that served as a counter. ‘Can I help you with anything else?’ A pale-skinned hand with nails bitten right down slipped into her range of vision and took the booklet.
As it disappeared he said, ‘Just one thing. Do you do muffins and coffee here?’
Not sure she had heard him correctly, she glanced up. ‘I’m sorry? What?’
He was staring at her again, but now wearing a wide grin. Not the best of teeth either, she thought. Nevertheless there was a boyishness about him that, along with the eyes – what was it about them? – was hard to resist. She started to smile back, but then realised and caught herself.
‘I said, ‘Do you serve muffins and coffee here.’ Or must I take you somewhere?’
She started to panic, unsure if he was making fun of her. Or was it something else? ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, conscious she was repeating herself. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Yes you do,’ he said, letting the grin slip, so it was less obvious he was chatting her up. ‘But if you want to pretend, that is all right. I do not want to upset you again.’
Lucy wasn’t sure if he had intended to make her feel guilty, but she had been brought up to always be polite, even to strangers. And remembering the first time they had met and all the college memos she’d read about the need to be careful when dealing with people from minority groups, she worried in case he interpreted her reticence as some sort of prejudice.
‘You haven’t upset me. It’s just-.’
‘In that case let me take you to lunch. I can act as first slip in case you drop it again.’
She hadn’t a clue what he was talking about and his confident use of English made her wonder again why he was interested in language courses. But by now she was aware that Emma had moved from her desk and was pretending to be doing something just behind the glass partition. Her panic increased. A bell rang, signalling the end of the first afternoon period.
‘Alright,’ she said. Anything if you’ll just go. ‘I’ll be there, tomorrow. About one.’
‘I will look forward to it.’
With that he turned, prospectus in hand, and headed away down the corridor that was now filling, quickly, with groups of students. Lucy noticed that as he neared them they parted, as if by magic, to let him through. He didn’t acknowledge them, nor did he look back.
‘Well you dark horse,’ Emma said as Lucy returned to her desk. ‘Are you going to tell me or what?’
‘Sorry?’ She was still thinking about him. Who was he? Where was he from?
Emma gave her an exasperated look. ‘Alright,’ she said. ‘Keep it to yourself. But I’ll want chapter and verse after lunch tomorrow.’
Lucy showed her annoyance. She had been listening. And she wasn’t finished.
‘Just remember to put on some make up. And for goodness sake, do something with your hair. Like you did for the Christmas do last year. You looked really sexy then.’ Lucy blushed. ‘And don’t forget to ask if he’s got a brother. I could quite go for one of these exotic-foreigner types.’
Trying not to smile - it would only encourage her shameless colleague - Lucy shook her head and turned her attention back to the timetable she had been working on when the buzzer sounded. But as she sat looking blankly at the screen, her mind was racing. For all that the shadow that had fallen over her life recently was still there – and needed to be dealt with, soon - she was conscious of a feeling she hadn’t experienced in a long while. A tingle that came from thinking t
hat, after all this time, something might be about to happen that might – just might - interrupt the plodding sameness of her otherwise humdrum existence.
She pursed her lips so Emma would not see how excited she was, and started to attack her keyboard.
CHAPTER 27
Carver checked his watch as he waited for Sarah to come down from the bathroom. He was conscious that time was running away from him – again - and that Patsy and Jack would soon be home. But at least his impromptu visit meant that they would find their mother in a better state than they would have done. Images of Social Services intervention loomed in the back of his brain and it depressed him to realise she was slipping back again. He had hoped he was seeing signs that with him and Ros taking the kids now and then, and the occasional visits from Joyce, she was close to getting back on her feet.
Wrong.
He hadn’t actually asked when she’d last showered and put on freshly-cleaned clothes, but her dishevelled appearance when he’d arrived an hour earlier told its own story. Entering via the back door, having got no answer at the front, he’d found her asleep on the couch, an empty wine bottle and a glass on the floor next to her. It was two o’clock in the afternoon. The day’s post lay next to the bottle. She had only opened one letter. It was a summons for non-payment of council tax.
Now, as he waited, knowing he was supposed to be elsewhere, he was conscious he was guilty of abusing the freedom his present position afforded him; the freedom to come and go as he pleased, and to attend to personal matters - at the expense of the professional. It was something he’d long abhorred in some of those with whom he’d worked over the years. But right now he was glad he’d decided to visit, prompted by her not answering her mobile the past twenty-four hours. And besides, it wasn’t too far off-route to his meet with Alec Duncan, whatever that was all about. Alec had rung mid-morning requesting a meeting. And there’d been more than a hint of conspiracy in his response to Carver’s asking why. ‘Just a couple of things I’d like to run past yeh,’ he’d said. Carver’s best guess was, it concerned Aslan in some way. Things had gone quiet on that front since The Duke’s enforced absence. His instincts told him not much progress was being made. If it were, he’d have heard. But first there was Sarah.
On cue, he heard her tramping, unevenly, down the stairs. A few seconds later the door opened and she came in. Her hair hung in rat’s tails. But at least he could smell shampoo. He’d worried she might just splash water over it to try to fool him. And while the pink and black jogging suit hadn’t been ironed, it looked clean.
‘Here,’ he said, thrusting the mug of tea he had waiting at her.
Taking a sip - ‘Not enough sugar,’ – she went and sat in the chair next to the gas fire where she wouldn’t have to look at him. She lit a cigarette.
‘How are you feeling?’ he said.
She blew smoke up into the air and sniffed to clear her sinuses. ‘Bleeding brilliant, what do you think?’ But after a few seconds she turned to him, her features softening. ‘Sorry.’
‘S’alright.’
For a moment he wrestled over what to say. Things couldn’t go on like this. But he could see she was embarrassed, and with the kids due home soon, now was not the time to start getting into it. ‘Will you be okay?’
She looked at him over the rim of her mug. ‘I’m not going to let them roam the streets in their bare feet if that’s what you are worried about.’
‘I didn’t mean the kids. I meant this.’ He held up the summons.
She looked at it for a moment, then shrugged. ‘What are they going to do, lock me up?’ He gave her an even look he hoped would mask his thoughts. Then he folded the papers and stuffed them inside his jacket.
‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’
‘I’ll sort it.’
‘Like hell you will. Give it back.’ She held out a hand.
He leaned down, bringing his face close to hers. ‘Don’t argue. Call it an early birthday present.’
Another time she might have tried harder, but he could see she was tired, out of options. As she turned away her eyes began to glisten. Carver shook his head. For all that she was struggling, the old Carver arrogance was still there. Only in her case it manifested itself in the way she refused offers of help, especially those that came regularly from their parents. Carver still had no idea what lay behind their estrangement, particularly from her father. He had tried asking, but none of them were saying. His suspicion was that the retired Chief Constable had probably tried ‘pulling rank’ in an attempt to bully some sense into her - something he could well imagine her resisting to the point of cutting him out. If he was right, it wouldn’t be the first time. Something similar had happened just after Patsy was born. It lasted a couple of years.
Now, as he watched her staring blankly over her not-sweet-enough tea, he decided to voice the thought that had come while tidying up the sitting room - God knows when she’d last given the vacuum a run-out. He would just have to talk Rosanna round.
‘Look, Sis.’
She looked.
‘I was going to ask you this anyway…. I mean before I found you…. I mean-.’ Bollocks to it. ‘The half-term’s coming up. Why don’t you all come to us for a few days? Patsy and Jack enjoy it out there and you could do with a break as well. Make a mini-holiday of it.’
She eyed him suspiciously. ‘What would Rosanna say?’
‘It was her idea.’
She thought about it a few seconds. Then a miracle occurred. She smiled. For a fleeting second Carver caught a glimpse of something he had never expected to see again. But before he could be certain, it was gone, the suspicion came back again – the response programmed by years of discovering that something sounding too good to be true usually turned out to be exactly that.
‘I thought Rosanna didn’t like me.’
‘What gave you that idea?’ He knew damn well. ‘She’d love to have you.’ She’ll kill me. ‘You’ll just have to remember. No smoking in the house.’
She thought on it some more. Eventually she looked up at him. The smile again, steadier this time. ‘I would like that.’
‘Great.’ But as he returned it, he was thinking he may as well stop at the riding stables he passed on the way home and pick up a riding crop. So she can flail me alive.
For the next few minutes they talked about when and how. Sarah didn’t drive and started talking trains and buses.
‘No need for that. I’ll pick you up on my way home on Friday night.’
‘Will you be able to get any time off?’ Already she seemed excited by the idea.
‘I’ll see if I can get a couple of days. We could have a run out to Portmeirion.’
Her eyes lit up. ‘I haven’t been there since we used to go with Mum and Dad. I thought it had closed down.’
‘Not at all. Apparently it’s doing really well since they started re-running The Prisoner on subscription.’
‘Patsy and Jack would love it there.’
‘That’s why I suggested it.’
He checked his watch again. ‘Look, I’d love to stay and see the kids. But I’m supposed to be-.’
‘It’s okay. You get off. They’ll see you soon anyway.’
Seeing her brightening, Carver’s memories stirred. There was a time she’d always been first amongst the Carvers to laugh and smile, before it all stopped. A fuzzy-warm feeling started in his stomach.
‘And thanks for coming round. I’m sure there’re all sorts of important cases you’re supposed to be solving.’
He made a mock-sad face that wasn’t all that mock. ‘I’m just a desk man now, remember? But there’s something brewing I need to deal with.’
‘Anything exciting? I’m always the last to hear of these cases you keep getting involved in. If it’s going to be on the news you have to tell me first.’
‘Don’t worry I’m not going to be on the news. And no, it’s nothing exciting.’ He thought about it. ‘Well, not unless you count an escap
ed Armenian nutcase exciting.’
She started. ‘Armenian? Bloody hell.’
He nodded and stood up. ‘I’d better whiz. I’ll ring you.’
As he came away he congratulated himself on his success. Then he remembered about having to tell Rosanna, and his mood darkened again.
CHAPTER 28
About to bite into the ham and cheese toastie Alec Duncan had waiting for him, Carver looked across at the Scottish detective. ‘You talk, I’ll eat,’ he said. He was half an hour later than the ‘Ten minutes,’ he’d said he would be when he rang to tell Alec he was on his way. Traffic through Salford had been a nightmare.
They were meeting in The Great British Pride again. As Carver pulled a rubbery strand of cold cheese off his chin, he saw Alec hesitating, unsure it seemed where to start. He was clearly uncomfortable. Carver thought he could guess why. A couple of times in his career he’d found himself having to confide personal doubts over an investigation-in-progress to another SIO. It always smacked of treachery.
‘We’ve known each other long enough, Alec. Just spit it out.’
The Scotsman turned a grave face to him. ‘I’m not sure I’m doin’ the right thing here. It’s probably well out of order-.’
‘Tell me about Aslan.’ Carver tried to make it sound like an order. He didn’t want to have to spend the rest of the afternoon talking the man who was about the most moral detective he knew into putting his ethical principles to one side. That Alec didn’t argue, Carver took as signalling the depth of his disquiet. The DS took a deep breath.
‘The rate things are going, we’re never going to catch this Danelian character before he finds his family, assuming that’s who he’s looking for. There’re things we ought to be doing that aren’t getting done.’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as getting into the Armenian community and doing some digging. West has got half of us reviewing the Durzlan case and the other half going through immigration records. Someone ought to be oot and aboot. On the street.’
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