‘I mean – you’re allowed to say you don’t want to talk about things. Why aren’t I?’
‘You are allowed. Of course you are. I just don’t understand how anyone could go from the life you would’ve been leading, to this.’ Lottie waved her bleach bottle around to emphasise her point.
‘In the words of a good friend of mine – touché!’
‘That’s not words, that’s word – singular.’
‘Fine. But you get the idea. It would seem we both have skeletons in our closets.’
‘Yes. We probably have more past than most people. I’ll give you that.’
‘So, what do you want to do?’ Hannah asked.
‘Do?’
‘About our secrets. How about you tell me all about the diabolical Mr Robinson, and what he took from you, and I’ll tell you how I managed to have the shortest police career ever.’
Lottie considered her offer. ‘Hmm … it sounds like a deal. Quick, let’s finish up here and I’ll put the kettle on.’
15
Hannah – 2018
She’d caught a break, being paired up with PC Dave ‘Chippy’ Chipperton. Everyone had told her Chippy was a good bloke. He had a few years’ experience and she’d heard he was dynamic. Hannah planned to learn as much as possible from him. Thank goodness she hadn’t been saddled with one of the old fellas, ‘No Teeth’ Keith or ‘Bobble Head’ Bill, like a couple of her colleagues had.
This was her first day out on the road with Chippy, and she could hardly contain her excitement. ‘Coffee?’ she asked in a cheery voice, as he parked outside Starbucks.
‘Yeah. Black, three sugars.’ Chippy nodded. ‘Oh … and grab me a brownie or a Danish, anything sweet. I need a pick me up.’ He rubbed his forehead and drew his hand down his face.
Two minutes later, Hannah was back in the car. It was kind of cool; wearing the uniform and driving around in the car meant people moved out of her way and offered her their place in the queue.
‘What did you get me?’
‘A Danish. Apple, I think.’ She passed the white paper bag to her partner, following it up with the coffee.
Without so much as a thank you, he immediately tried taking a sip through the hole. ‘Fucking hell!’
‘It’s hot, you idiot. You have to wait.’
‘Who you calling an idiot?’
Hannah wasn’t sure if he was kidding. His expression was difficult to read, and she didn’t know him well enough yet. Erring on the side of caution, she apologised. ‘Sorry. No harm intended.’
Chippy grunted as he took the lid off his drink and blew on the glossy black liquid.
Ten minutes later, coffee and Danish pastry consumed in silence, they drove off, patrolling the streets and waiting for a call out. Hannah had never been more ready.
One month into her stint with Chippy, all her enthusiasm had been worn away. She’d learnt nothing. She’d thought she was so lucky to be put with him, but the truth was – he was a total slacker. He did as little as possible at every call and constantly deferred all the menial tasks to her. She appreciated she was there to assist him; that was fine. But he did nothing for himself. Not once had he offered to grab her a coffee, he never put pen to paper, and he rarely offered any advice. When he went to the toilet, she half expected him to ask her to pop in and hold his dick for him, he was that lazy! Concluding he would make a better sloth than he did a police officer, she couldn’t fathom all the people who’d congratulated her on her pairing with him. So many colleagues had told her they’d worked with him, and he’d been smart and perceptive. Maybe he had been those things previously; after all, he’d managed to convince enough people that he was a good copper. But something was undeniably off, and whatever he was before, he was none of those things now, and she was sick of waiting on him.
Chippy put the windscreen wipers on full to fight the heavy rain. ‘When we get back to the nick, I’m going to need you to finish off those forms for me.’
‘Why?’
‘Why?’
‘Yeah, why? You can finish the forms. You were there.’
‘Yes. I was. But so were you. And I just told you I want you to fill in the forms.’
‘But …’ Hannah began to wonder why she’d started this. Shall I just back down?
‘Remind me, Sandlin, which one of us is the rooky?’
‘I …’
‘As I thought. You haven’t got shit to say.’
A rage rushed through Hannah. This lazy bastard was really starting to get on her nerves. ‘I know perfectly well which one of us is newer to this. But …’ Oh, what the hell. In for a penny! ‘… I’m sick of doing everything. You haven’t raised a finger since we started working together. I wouldn’t mind if I’d learnt even one useful thing from you. But I haven’t.’
‘Sweetheart, you won’t learn anything by me doing stuff for you. I’ve got to be somewhere tonight. I don’t have time to fill in forms. If you don’t want to get it done, that’s your business. But, trust me; there isn’t one person in that nick who’s going to blame me if stuff isn’t handed in on time.’
‘I do understand that I won’t learn things if you do it all for me. I get that. But it might be nice if you did something. I’ve done the exact same training you have. Maybe I have to be somewhere too. Has that thought crossed your mind?’
‘You think I care where you’ve got to be?’ Chippy seemed on edge, even more impatient than usual.
‘Look, Chippy … mate.’ Hannah hoped she could pull this back. Even through her temper, she knew it hadn’t been a good move to start an argument with him. ‘I will fill in the forms. It’s just that you never … whoa … what the hell was that all about?’
‘What?’
‘Don’t tell me you didn’t see that?’
‘You’ve agreed to do the forms, so as far as I’m concerned—’
‘We need to turn around. Go back,’ Hannah interrupted.
‘No way!’
‘Are you telling me you didn’t see those two blokes?’
‘The drunks?’
‘Who says they’re drunk? What a sloppy assumption to make. We won’t know anything until we go back.’
‘One of them was holding a beer bottle and they were staggering about; that makes them drunks. Anyway, weren’t you listening before? I’ve got to be somewhere. I need to get going, and this rain is slowing me up. Besides which, our shift is—’
‘Fuck the shift. Turn the car around.’
‘All I saw was a couple of pricks shouting at each other. That’s not something that needs investigating.’
Each second they continued to travel took them further in the wrong direction. Hannah couldn’t believe he wasn’t going to turn back. Just as she was preparing to call it in, the radio sprang to life, and Control announced that a domestic had been reported. ‘It’s spilled out into the street. Cranmore Road. It’s Sandy and Bev.’
‘Oh, for fuck sake. It’s those dykes.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Hannah hadn’t had Chippy down as homophobic.
‘I didn’t recognise them in this downpour. Sandy and Bev are tougher than me. They can both handle themselves. The pair of them are tattooed from arsehole to breakfast time.’
‘So what? That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t—’
‘Plus, they’re a couple of druggies. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been called out in the last year to break them up.’
‘But you just pointed out, one of them had a bottle.’
‘They’ll be fine. They’re always out of their trees. I wouldn’t be surprised if—’
The radio interrupted him. ‘This is Barton. I’ll take it. I’m about two minutes away.’
‘See, she’s going. It’s her shout now. We can leave it.’
‘Chippy, she’s two minutes out. We’re only a second away.’
‘It’ll be good for her. She’ll learn from it.’
‘She’s on foot, and it’s pissing it down!’
�
��Dawn Barton isn’t made of sugar. You do know that, right?’
‘Yes, I do. But she’s only a PCSO. You said those women were tough.’
‘It doesn’t need all of us to attend. Besides, it’ll probably be over by the time she gets there.’ Chippy drove on, steadfastly.
Hannah could hardly contain her frustration. So, they were drunk or stoned or whatever, and maybe they did row often. But that didn’t take away from the fact that one of them had been waving a bottle around menacingly. She needed to get back there and see if the other one was okay. Not to mention Dawn, who was currently making her way there unsupported. ‘You’re not seriously going to just keep driving to the nick, are you?’
‘I’ve got somewhere to be. I already told you that – loads of times! It’s just a domestic. It’s shit on shit. It’s nothing.’
‘Shit on shit? They’re human beings. You’re a useless bastard, d’you know that?’
Chippy’s head snapped round. ‘Shut the fuck up. You’ve got a lot to learn.’
There was nothing she could do. Short of wrestling the steering wheel out of his hand, which was not a sensible idea given the weather, she was clean out of options.
As they drove into the station car park and Chippy swung into one of the spaces, a 10/1 call cut through the usual chatter on the radio. It was the first time Hannah had heard the chirp of the emergency button, and it took her by surprise. Then she heard her colleague; Barton’s voice was full of panic. ‘I need backup at the domestic. Urgent assistance needed in Cranmore Road. Officer down.’
Chippy grunted. ‘What have those fucking useless scrotes done now?’
16
Vincent – 2014
Most days, Vincent shopped at the cheapest supermarket and bought the value range. He often waited until after 4pm to grab a loaf of the reduced bread. But once a week he shopped at Waitrose. In fact, the word ‘shopped’ was incorrect. He simply grabbed a basket and made his way slowly around the upmarket store, picking up the odd expensive item. He was putting on a show. He had discovered, through trial and error, that Tuesday afternoons worked best. Elderly ladies seemed to swarm the place on Tuesday afternoons. In time, he found out that this was due to the WI meetings in the church hall next door. Many of the elderly ladies would ask his advice. They’d see a distinguished man, in a suit and tie, and they’d assume he knew all about the truffles. As it happened, they were right; he did know all about the truffles, because he’d been in a different branch of Waitrose on the previous Wednesday, asking the assistant several truffle-related questions and confirming the differences between champagne and black.
His time spent working at the restaurant with Maria and her parents had also taught him well. He gave the WI ladies advice about rich coffee from Colombia, smoked salmon from Alaska, Aberdeen Angus fillet steak and so much more. These five-minute conversations told him all he needed to know. The rich women were befriended, the poor discarded. All were flattered. He watched as their cheeks turned pink. He knew his accent and his big brown eyes reawakened something in these rich old birds. Rather annoyingly, the only thing he was unable to do was to offer to get them their required items from the top shelf. Apart from that, they were putty in his hands.
That was how Vincent met Catherine Thorogood; she was in the queue behind him at the delicatessen counter. The first thing he did was to gallantly offer for her to go before him. This gave him the added bonus that he didn’t have to order some fancy cheese, and wait whilst they carefully wrapped and priced it, before discarding it later in amongst the pre-packed cheeses. Few of the items in his basket at Waitrose ever made it as far as the check-out.
Mrs Thorogood thanked him for his kind offer, but advised that she wasn’t sure what she wanted. ‘I’m looking for something tasty in the way of fish or vegetables – maybe like roll mops, only different. Can you suggest anything?’ Her question was aimed at the young girl behind the counter. But Vincent’s luck was in that day. The supermarket employee wasn’t usually on the deli counter and, understandably, she’d never heard of roll mop herrings, and had no clue what Mrs Thorogood was talking about. Panic was written all over her youthful face.
‘Umm … I think …’
Vincent coughed gently. ‘Perhaps I can be of assistance.’ He used his finest voice. ‘I am rather partial to the grilled artichokes. And, of course,’ he gave a handsome smile, ‘the Italian anchovy fillets.’
‘Ohhh.’ Mrs Thorogood put her hand to her chest and breathed deeply. It was the exact response he’d been aiming for. ‘They sound lovely.’ She asked the relieved girl behind the counter to provide her with a large tub of each.
Once served, Mrs Thorogood moved away from the deli counter, glancing wistfully back at Vincent.
He excused himself from the line and followed her. ‘Please, madam, may I be so bold as to suggest a deliciously light cracker to go with those?’
‘Well … yes. But I was going to make toast and—’
‘You were going to cut the crusts off the toast and serve it in delicate squares. A marvellous idea. But these crackers are to die for.’
‘They sound gorgeous, Mr …?’
‘Robinson. Vincent.’ He offered his hand.
She took it and gave it a gentle shake, saying, ‘Catherine Thorogood.’ She then added, ‘Vincent,’ trying out his name on her tongue. She appeared to like it. ‘But, weren’t you next? Don’t you need something from the deli counter?’
‘I shall re-join the queue later. I would absolutely hate you to miss out on those crackers.’
‘What a kind man.’ Mrs Thorogood followed him to the cracker aisle, where he showed her a packet of Italian biscuits.
‘These are so light. Just as we had in my hometown. They use only authentic ingredients. No unhealthy fats. They are the only crackers good enough for you and your family, Mrs Thorogood.’
‘Please, call me Catherine?’
‘I shall do that, Catherine.’ Vincent treated her to his full concentration.
It was clear that, for her, everyone else in the store had disappeared. ‘How fortunate that I happened to get in the queue at the same time as you.’
‘Indeed.’
‘Do you shop here often, Vincent?’
‘Whenever I can. I refuse to eat substandard food.’ Vincent stated this with a confident air, neglecting to acknowledge, even to himself, his recent lunch of budget beans on toast.
‘Can I … umm …’ Catherine hesitated, unsure of his response. ‘Would you …?’
He took the reins. ‘Can I buy you a coffee in the café? And perhaps a pastry?’
Again, Catherine’s hand flew to her heart.
‘Well, it all sounds most interesting. I can’t say I’ve given a great deal of thought to investments before.’
Vincent surveyed the woman sitting across from him. She was petite and smart, not a hair out of place. She appeared … how could he describe it? Tightly wound. As if years of having to do and say the right thing had left her incapable of letting go. Her manner aged her, but on closer inspection she was younger than he’d first thought. If he ignored her frumpy clothes and stiff hair, he could see that her skin was only just beginning to wrinkle. She simply had a few crow’s feet around the eyes. Nothing like the ghastly saggy skin of the women he usually scammed. A quick calculation told him Catherine was probably in her mid-fifties, just about old enough to be his mother. But the looks she was giving him suggested she most definitely did not see him that way. Her pale blue eyes never left his.
Deciding to dangle his bait a bit longer and see if maybe this time he could catch himself the biggest fish in the pond, he replied, ‘There’s so much financial help available out there. You simply need to make sure you’re dealing with someone trustworthy.’
‘Of course. Yes.’
‘You don’t have anyone helping you right now?’
‘Oh no. My husband doesn’t really …’ Catherine stopped.
‘Perhaps I could meet him. I’m always happy to
take on new clients.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t think he’d be interested. He’s rather … cautious.’
A tight-arse, you mean. ‘That’s a shame. I’ll hazard a guess I could make him a fair amount of money.’
It was clear Catherine didn’t want Vincent to meet her husband. She wanted him all to herself. And that suited him. He’d never once been able to charm a single thing out of a man. It was frustrating. He had hoped she was going to turn out to be a widow or a wealthy spinster. But what the hell, all was not lost. She was obviously already besotted with him. Perhaps she had a small savings account he could plunder. Failing that, there might be something at her home that he could ‘borrow’. He made sure to mention when he would next be in Waitrose, and left with a 100% guarantee he would be seeing her again. Catherine Thorogood was well and truly hooked.
It only took a couple of meetings in the café before Vincent was able to wheedle an invitation to her home. The first time Catherine gave him a tour, he knew it had been worth the effort. She lived in a full-blown country mansion. It was like the estates he’d seen on the television. The house was adorned with antiques, any one of which would inflate Vincent’s finances enormously. In the stables, he spotted quite a few expensive-looking horses. These were no old nags; they were more like racehorses. Next to the stables, a tennis court appeared to go mostly unused. A massive conservatory, which for some unknown reason Catherine referred to as the orangery, took up one whole side of the house and was filled with exotic flowers and plants. Added to this, there were acres of meadow and woodland out the back.
Although he wasn’t keen, he allowed Catherine to introduce him to her husband, Douglas, on that first visit. As expected, the husband proved to be a complete chinless wonder. There was nothing to be gained from him. He was an upper-class wet wipe of a man, and Vincent immediately detested and envied him in equal measure. He clearly held onto his money like a constipated dog holds on to its shit. But all was not lost. Catherine was falling deeper and deeper in lust with him, and he knew that if he played his cards right, this could still come good. Her husband seemed happy to leave them alone, stupid wanker. Vincent wasn’t going to fall at the first fence by simply stealing one of the ornaments. Oh no, this was going to be a slow burn. This was quite possibly going to be the big one.
Swindled (The Sandlin PI Series Book 1) Page 5