by Val McDermid
The last of the team left the room and Carol took a final look at the whiteboards where the strategy was outlined. Time to go and reassure Paula.
She found the young DC sitting in her office with Jan Shields. Paula was kitted up and ready to roll. She looked curiously pathetic in her trashy outfit, her bare legs already goosepimpled above the strappy stilettos Jan had found on a cheap market stall. Paula’s face was masked with the exaggerated make-up of a street girl, eyes outlined in kohl and lips a scarlet slash. She looked as comfortable as a white mouse in a pit of vipers.
Carol looked her up and down. ‘I know it feels horrible, but you look the business. Well, from a distance anyway. Up close, you look far too sussed and healthy.’
‘Thanks, chief,’ Paula said ironically.
Carol put a hand on her shoulder, feeling the stiff PVC cold against her fingers. ‘We’ll be close, all the time. We’ll be watching you. We’ve got officers on the street as well as in vehicles. Have they wired you up yet?’
Paula nodded, swivelling in her chair and lifting the back of her jacket. Although the sparkly silver top revealed her midriff, the jacket reached the top of her hips, hiding the wire that ran from the mike between her breasts, round the line of her bra and down her back into the transmitter that was fixed just below the waistline of her skirt. The wire wasn’t taped to her skin; there was enough slack to make sure it wouldn’t be ripped out by accident if she had to bend over or crouch to speak to the driver of a car.
‘You can’t see anything when she’s standing or walking,’ Jan said. ‘We’ve checked.’
‘Good,’ Carol said. ‘What about an earpiece?’
Paula shook her head. The techies said it was too visible with my hair being so short.’
‘And you’re OK about that? About us not being able to talk to you?’
Paula shrugged. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘If we need to abort, one of us will do a walk-past. You’re clear on the rest of the drill?’ Carol asked.
She nodded unhappily. ‘If I get a punter, I walk round the corner with him and find out what he wants. If he’s just a regular punter, I flash my warrant card and tell him to disappear before he gets arrested.’
That’s right. We’re not interested in saddo sales reps tonight. Save them for Jan’s colleagues another time.’
Thanks,’ Jan said sarcastically.
‘And when I get someone who wants a bit of bondage, I go along with him?’
Carol could see Paula was trying hard to maintain bravado. But she knew the worm of anxious fear that was eating her. She knew because she’d lived with it for longer than she ever wanted to again. That’s right,’ she said. Then you ask him exactly what he’s got in mind. If he’s got somewhere to go or if he wants to use your place. Whether we think he’s the killer or not, that’s when we move in. Either to warn him off in no uncertain terms or to lift him. We’ll be right behind you. We need to give him a bit of rope, but we’ll be keeping close tabs to make sure nothing goes wrong.’
Paula braced herself visibly. ‘But nothing’s going to go wrong. Right?’
‘Right.’ The male voice came from behind them. The three women turned to see the Chief Constable in the doorway. ‘I have every confidence in you and your team, DCI Jordan. You’re in the best possible hands, DC McIntyre. I’m sure we’re going to get a result. If not tonight, then very soon.’
Carol felt Paula stiffen under her hand. She realized that the DC hadn’t understood that this might not simply be a one-off. Thank you, sir,’ she said.
‘I’d like a word, DCI Jordan?’ Brandon said.
Jan and Paula left them to it. ‘We’ll wait in the briefing room,’ Jan said, closing the door behind her.
‘How are you doing, Carol?’ Brandon asked, his brow furrowed in concern.
‘I’m fine, sir,’ she said, her voice clipped, inviting neither sympathy nor indulgence. After their earlier encounter, she found it hard to accept his concern was sincere. ‘It’s not me who’s taking the risks tonight.’
‘No, but it can’t be easy for you, sending an officer out on an operation like this. After what you–’
‘I do my job, sir,’ Carol interrupted. ‘If I thought my own feelings were compromising the operation, I would have asked you to relieve me of command.’
Brandon looked embarrassed. ‘I wasn’t suggesting that for a moment, Carol. And it wasn’t what I was implying when we spoke before. All I meant was that I do understand that this must bring back uncomfortable memories.’
Carol fought to stay in command of herself against the rising tide of frustration and anger. ‘With respect, sir, that’s my business.’
Rebuked, Brandon turned away. ‘As you say. Is Tony in the building?’
‘No, sir. Dr Hill felt he had contributed all he could to this evening’s undercover. He indicated that he thought the arrangements I had put in place were sufficient.’ Unlike you, she thought with some bitterness. Suddenly, it dawned on her that Tony’s absence might not be an admonishment. It could be his way of showing her that he thought she was back in command of herself again, back on top of her game.
If that’s what it is, he couldn’t be more wrong. She was more anxious than she’d been for a long time. But she was damned if she was going to let Brandon see that. She nailed a smile to her face and said, ‘If you’ll excuse me, sir, I need to show my support for DC McIntyre. It’s time we got to work.’
Brandon stood aside to let her pass. ‘Good luck, Carol,’ he said.
She swung round. ‘If we catch him, it won’t be about luck, sir. It’ll be about good police work.’
Temple Fields on a weekday evening. Sharp night air with an acrid edge of city pollution that caught the throat. Two generations back, the base note would have been the smoke from thousands of coal fires. Now it was the greenhouse gases from car exhausts and the stale exhalations of the city’s hundreds of food outlets, from burger bars to Bollinger bistros. The garish neon lighting looked blurred through the lenses of the CCTV system. The four cameras that fed into the surveillance van were all targeted on Paula from a variety of angles and distances, showing her against the backdrop of a bustling street where all appetites could be met. People shopped in the mini-market on the corner, moved in and out of pubs, cafés and restaurants. Sex workers of all genders and sexes dawdled, their impatience for custom mostly numbed by alcohol or drugs. Cars cruised and drifted, some looking for parking spaces, others looking for sex. What their drivers didn’t know was that every number plate was being logged by another set of cameras strategically placed at the main access routes into the area. If the killer didn’t show his hand, each of those registered owners would have to be visited in a tedious, time-consuming ritual where everyone was assumed to have something to hide until they demonstrated otherwise. Marriages might founder in the wake of tonight’s operation.
Carol Jordan didn’t care. She knew the price that taking chances sometimes demanded and she had little sympathy for those who took their risks for such venal rewards. She stared into the screens, watching Paula intently. The young DC had staked out a corner by a mini-roundabout. She’d learned quickly, clocking the attitude and style of the other women on the street and now she was strutting her stuff like the rest of them. A few steps in one direction; a cocking of the hip, an insolent stare at the traffic. Then back to where she started.
When she’d taken up position, she’d been challenged by another woman whose pitch she’d inadvertently invaded. A quick flash of her warrant card would have seen off the opposition but might have threatened the whole strategy. So Paula had done a deal. The other woman backed off in exchange for a twenty-pound note. It wasn’t much of a bribe, but Paula had invested her words with enough of a threat for the other woman to move a few yards down a side street without further complaint. Carol had been impressed. Given how nervous Paula had been earlier, it was a bravura performance.
‘She did good,’ Jan had said. That’s one of the advantages of
us clearing out the pimps. Not that long ago, if she’d have tried that stunt, she’d have had a knife at her throat in five minutes. But the women don’t go in for that kind of response.’
‘Don’t they look out for each other?’ Stacey asked, looking up from the computer screen where she was running the car numbers from the other cameras against the Police National Computer.
‘Up to a point. But they’re not exactly what you’d call a trade union,’ Jan said sardonically.
It wasn’t a busy night on the street as far as the hookers were concerned. But it was early yet. According to Jan, there would be more action after ten o’clock, reaching a peak between midnight and one. Carol, however, had already decided to close down the operation at midnight. All of the killer’s victims, whether you counted it as two or six, had been taken off the streets between six and ten. This killer clearly didn’t like working the night shift.
By half past eight, Paula hadn’t had a serious nibble. The team in the van had been aware of a dozen or so transactions on the street, but none of the women involved had looked remotely like the killer’s type, so they’d let them run their course without interference.
Suddenly, Jan pointed to one of the screens. ‘Well, well, well,’ she said. ‘Look who it is.’
Walking down the street towards Paula, head down and jacket collar turned up, was the unmistakable figure of Tony Hill. Carol leaned into the screen, watching intently as he walked past Paula without a second glance. Then he turned into the first pub he came to. What the hell was he up to? Part of Carol wanted to jump out of the van and chase after him. But the better part of her knew she must sit tight. If anything went down, her place was here, right on top of the game, not running round the streets demanding to know what Tony was playing at. Besides, it went against all the rules of surveillance to have foot traffic in and out of the vehicle, drawing attention to its presence.
Her decision was made for her when a car glided to a halt next to Paula. ‘Punter alert,’ Merrick shouted. The tension in the van ratcheted up palpably.
Paula bent down to speak into the lowered window. The car obscured her face, but the camera behind her showed she was free and clear, and the wire gave a crackly but comprehensible rendering of the conversation.
‘You working?’ the driver asked.
‘What are you after?’ Paula said, the harshness in her tone evident even through the attrition of transmission.
‘You take it up the arse?’ the man said.
‘You want me to take it up the arse, it’ll cost you more than you could ever afford. Fuck off, pervert,’ Paula snarled.
‘Fucking cunt,’ the driver spat back, shifting the car into gear and moving further down the street.
Paula stepped back from the kerb. ‘I guess the price wasn’t right.’
‘Attagirl, Paula. Keep whistling in the dark,’ Carol said softly. They all sat back in their seats and allowed themselves a degree of relaxation.
‘He’s sitting in the window,’ Jan said.
‘What?’ Carol was still replaying Paula’s encounter in her head.
‘Dr Hill.’ Jan pointed at one of the screens. It was just possible to make out a face that might possibly belong to Tony. ‘He’s just sat down. He’s got a drink–look. He’s found a seat where he can watch the street.’
‘Just so long as he stays put,’ Carol muttered.
Another fifteen minutes passed without incident. Then Merrick said, ‘That bloke. He’s walked past three times.’ He pointed with his pen at a middle-aged, balding man, stocky but with a slight stoop. ‘He’s eyeing up Paula. Look.’
He was right. The man slowed as he approached Paula, his head moving up and down as he scrutinized her from the side and from behind. He passed her, then crossed the street. At the corner, he turned back. He sauntered in Paula’s direction, then, when he was almost level with her, he crossed the street, quickening his pace.
‘Uh, oh,’ Jan said as he hit the pavement, crowding Paula so she had to take a backward step.
‘Let’s do some business, you and me.’ The man’s voice was a loud growl in their earpieces.
‘What are you after?’ Paula said, trying to stand her ground but having to back up as he moved in on her.
‘I want you to suck me off,’ he demanded, keeping up the pressure, angling Paula towards a break in the buildings where a narrow alley led to back yards.
‘Team A, move into position,’ Carol yelled. At once, four of the apparently aimless strollers on the street began to converge on Paula’s position.
Now they were in the alley. It was hard to see what was going on, but they heard a thud then a cry of protest from Paula. ‘Hey, shithead, cut the rough stuff,’ she shouted.
‘Shut your fucking hole,’ the man grunted.
‘Team A, stand by,’ Carol said. The four bodies flanked the alley mouth. Carol heard sounds of movement in her ear. Then a yelp of pain. Then Paula’s voice. ‘This is a warrant card, asshole.’
‘What the fu—’
‘Yeah, I’m a cop.’ Carol could hear Paula’s breath coming fast and hard. ‘Now fuck off fast before I’m tempted to do you for assault, shithead.’
Carol laughed out loud. ‘Team A, stand down.’
The man shot out of the alley, breaking into a shambling trot, nearly stumbling as he looked over his shoulder, panic written all over his face. Behind him, Paula emerged from the alley, brushing down her skirt.
‘She’s good,’ Jan said.
Carol wiped the sheen of sweat from her upper lip. ‘She’s very good. Let’s just hope the killer thinks so too.’
Tony had his glass halfway to his lips when the hand descended on his shoulder. He started, slopping lager down his shirt. ‘Shit!’ he said, jerking backwards and batting pointlessly at the spreading stain. He looked up. ‘Where did you come from?’ he demanded.
Carol jerked her head towards the rear of the bar. ‘Through the back door.’ She put two bottles of Stella on the table.
‘You scared the hell out of me,’ Tony complained, reaching for one of the bottles and topping up his almost-empty glass.
‘I’m supposed to scare the hell out of people. I’m a cop.’ Carol sat down and took a swig of her beer. ‘As you will have noticed, we just wound up for the night. I got the van to drop me off round the corner.’
‘I noticed. I was just finishing up my drink then I was off to get the night bus.’
Carol grinned. ‘Your sophistication never ceases to amaze me. What’s wrong with a taxi?’
‘You get a better class of nutter on the night bus. I blend in perfectly.’
She couldn’t argue with that. ‘So why are you here? I thought you were washing your hands of the undercover.’
He shook his head. ‘I never said that. Just that I didn’t think I had anything useful to offer.’ He gave her a shrewd look. ‘But I do now.’
She raised her eyebrows in a question.
‘It’s not going to work, Carol,’ Tony said flatly.
From anyone else, it would have been grounds for offence. But she knew him better than that. ‘What’s the problem? You don’t think Brandon’s line will force his hand?’
Tony pulled a face. ‘The challenge was fine. It’s the bait that’s the problem.’
‘You don’t think Paula looks like a hooker? I thought Jan had done a good job getting her kitted out. Or is it that you think she’s not close enough to his type?’
He shook his head. ‘She looks like a hooker. And she’s his type. That’s not it. Paula’s right on the money. It’s what you’re doing with her that’s the issue. Carol, this man knows Temple Fields. It’s his stamping ground. Like I said earlier, I think the chances are high that he works here. Which means he knows these streets, he knows the women who work them. So if he saw Paula out there tonight, he knows she’s new meat. And what did she do tonight?’
Carol thought for a moment. ‘She acted like a street hooker.’
Tony put his glass down heavi
ly. ‘No. She didn’t. Carol, she didn’t go with a single punter. As a whore, she was a total failure. Now, if our man was watching her, he’ll have thought one of two things. Either that she’s a decoy, in which case you’re blown. Or that she’s so new to the game she’s being too picky. In which case he’s not going to chance an approach.’
Carol closed her eyes momentarily. With all she’d learned from Tony about putting herself in the shoes of the enemy, why hadn’t she thought of that? Because she’d been too wrapped up in her own reactions. Her priority had been taking care of Paula, not making sure the honeytrap was tempting enough. ‘So what do I do now?’ she asked wearily.
‘You go back out on the street with Paula tomorrow night. And you set up some fake punters. A couple of guys in cars, a couple on foot. Make it look like she’s learned not to be so fussy. Make it look like she’s working and not standing around like cheese in a mousetrap.’ He smiled. That’s all I wanted to say. Now, are you going to give me a lift home or should I go and get the night bus?’
Rain drizzled depressingly from a battleship-grey sky, leaching all colour from the Derbyshire landscape. Their small cavalcade had swept out of Bradfield against the incoming tide of the morning rush hour, arriving at the car park by the remains of the old railway station in Miller’s Dale just after nine. The brown gritstone of the walls seemed to weep moisture. Carol turned to Jonathan France, white-faced beside her in the back seat. ‘Are you OK?’ she asked.
They had spoken little in the car on the way over from Bradfield. Carol was lost in her plans for the next stage of the undercover. But even if she hadn’t been, the presence of Sam Evans driving the unmarked CID car would have kept the conversation within narrow limits. As it was, Jonathan hadn’t shown much inclination for talk. He’d mostly stared straight ahead, as if mesmerized by the sweep of the windscreen wipers.
I’m ready, if that’s what you mean,’ he said, a deep breath lifting his shoulders. He grabbed the waxed jacket that he’d placed on the seat between them, opened the door and got out.