Don't Trust Him Page 11

  ‘They were so clever, you see,’ said Mrs Armstrong. ‘My husband was furious with me, but he was out playing golf with his phone switched off. He said he was from the bank.’

  ‘Please don’t blame yourself,’ said Sophia, not for the first time. She had noticed that Dane had been unusually quiet. For someone who normally had so much to say, it hadn’t escaped her notice that, once again, he was sitting back and letting Sophia take the lead.

  ‘Fifteen thousand pounds,’ said Mrs Armstrong, voice wavering. ‘We were saving the money for a cruise. Holiday of a lifetime. I’m so ashamed.’

  She bent her greyed head forward and buried her face in the handkerchief.

  Sophia glanced across at her colleague. He yawned.

  *

  An hour later, Sophia and Dane left Mrs Armstrong’s house and walked towards the car.

  ‘Shall we go for that chat now?’ said Dane as he turned on the engine.

  ‘I think we should,’ said Sophia. ‘But before we do, tell me something.’

  He glanced over at her, hesitated from pulling away and said, ‘What?’

  ‘Is this boring you?’

  ‘Is what boring me?’

  ‘I know that when you came to Major Crime you thought you’d be working on murders, so getting stuck working on Fraud with me can’t have been what you were expecting. But you don’t seem very interested in talking to these victims, and you’re not very reassuring.’

  ‘Okay, Soph, not only are you doing a brilliant job getting detail from them,’ he said as he manoeuvred the car away from the kerb, ‘but I’m still learning. I’ve got what, two years in? You’ve been doing this for nearly twenty years. Of course I’m going to watch you and learn all I can.’

  Vaguely satisfied with the answer, Sophia’s mind flew back to the night before. Something was bothering her about the evening – the bit before they ended up in bed.

  ‘How about we stop at this Starbucks up ahead and talk?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Good idea.’

  As Dane pulled into the car park, she tormented herself as to what she should share with him. She’d already been in one toxic relationship, and she wasn’t about to end up in another.

  Then

  Our big team night out was even more successful than I’d hoped, and here we all were on our final day of training.

  I took in the atmosphere around me, the proud parents, spouses, friends and children, all here to watch their loved ones have praise heaped upon them for months of hard work and dedication.

  A different boss took my attention today: he stood in front of us, all lined up waiting to be told how amazing we were, what a great thing we had done and would do over the coming years.

  ‘It is with great pleasure that I welcome all of your family and friends here today,’ he said, ‘to watch you take the final steps of your journey. And what a journey it has been.’

  I drifted off for a second, not really concentrating on what he was saying. My mind slipped back to the night before when I had walked Hannah back to her room. I wanted to grin at the thought of the hours I’d spent with her, but I knew I had to be on my best behaviour. Or at least appear to be.

  The crowd was on three sides of us, all beaming with pride as we were congratulated for completing months of training.

  I had no one rooting for me.

  Still, it had been that way for years and, truth be known, it suited me. I’d asked my real boss, Sean Turner, if he wanted to come along and make sure it was all legit. He had laughed – a lot.

  I stood still, listening as everyone’s name was read out, all fifty-three of us.

  Then it was my turn.

  ‘Police Constable Dane Hoopman,’ beamed the chief constable. ‘PC Hoopman has achieved outstanding examination results, performed to a consistently high standard in all aspects of his training, and has gone the extra mile to assist his colleagues. He has been awarded a certificate of merit.’

  More polite clapping from the crowd as I smiled along, listening to this bullshit, all the while pulling my humble winner’s face, sad that my armed-robbery days were behind me. Well, probably.

  Chapter 29

  Starbucks was empty other than two businesswomen sitting at either ends of a long padded bench seat. Sophia and Dane placed their orders at the counter and made their way to the farthest-away table they could manage.

  ‘I’m not sure what I’ve done,’ said Dane, hot drinks collected and cooling in front of them. ‘But I feel as though there’s something. We can forget all about last night if that’s what you’d rather do. I’m in your hands.’

  He paused, taking a sip of his cappuccino.

  Sophia chewed her bottom lip and stared out of the window. ‘I don’t think I want a relationship at the moment, and don’t think for one minute I’m making light of the fact that we had sex last night,’ Sophia said, turning to face him, drink untouched.

  ‘It was more than once.’

  She raised an eyebrow.

  ‘I had the feeling that you were only interested in a one-off as well.’ She studied his face as she spoke. All too aware that he had been playing her, part of her willing to go along with it, perhaps a small part of her attempting to shield herself if it all went wrong. Wasn’t the start of any relationship a leap of faith?

  Sophia liked Dane in some ways, though he was extremely arrogant in others.

  ‘Can’t we just see where it heads?’ he said, fiddling with his teaspoon. ‘I’m a firm believer in giving things a go and waiting to see what happens.’

  ‘Last night,’ she said, ‘you told me they’d call us for dinner when the table was ready.’

  He stared at her, a quizzical look on his face.

  ‘When I checked, the barmaid said she’d already told you a table was ready whenever we were. We should have eaten earlier; we were drinking on empty stomachs.’

  ‘You struck me as perfectly capable of turning down a drink. You only had to say no.’

  ‘That’s not the point,’ she insisted. ‘You should have told me that we could eat whenever we wanted. You lied.’

  ‘All right,’ he said, teaspoon clattering back to the saucer. ‘Then why didn’t you mention this before we slept together?’

  Sophia felt her cheeks redden. Was it so wrong to admit that she’d wanted to have sex with him anyway? Had his flippant attitude with Mrs Armstrong put her off him that much, or was she looking for a reason to distance herself from him?

  ‘I misunderstood what the barmaid told me, all right? I thought she said she’d come and get us. Don’t try to make out I planned to sleep with you, because I didn’t.’

  ‘What do we do now then?’ said Sophia.

  ‘Talk about something else, if you want,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Harry, tell me about Harry and the office politics.’

  It was Sophia’s turn to fiddle with her ridiculously long latte spoon. ‘Harry’s a great boss, but he’s been under a lot of stress lately. Pierre’s death really got to everyone.’

  Dane leaned across and placed a hand on hers. ‘It does all make a bit more sense now.’

  ‘What does?’ she said, pulling her hand back a couple of inches.

  ‘The strained atmosphere in the incident room, everyone appearing much too highly strung for a regular working nick.’

  ‘You really had no idea about Pierre before you came here?’ she said, a little incredulous. ‘You didn’t hear about it on the news when he was killed? It didn’t cross your mind that an officer from East Rise had been murdered and you were being drafted into the very same police station?’

  He inspected his fingernails, shrugged and said, ‘If I’m perfectly honest, I don’t take much notice of what’s going on in the world if it doesn’t directly affect me. And I’m sorry, but I wasn’t working here at the time, I didn’t know the guy, and the powers that be probably thought it best not to tell me in case it put me off. Not that I had a lot of choice in the matter.’

  ‘Didn’t you want to c
ome to East Rise?’ she asked before taking a sip of her latte.

  ‘I didn’t really know what I wanted, if I’m honest. It seems to be working out okay.’

  Sophia smiled and said, ‘Harry’s a good bloke; no matter what he’s going through at the moment, he’ll always stick up for his staff. If you’d have joined the department this time last year, you’d have found it a very different place. All the cutbacks haven’t helped either. We have twenty per cent more work for twenty per cent less staff. And it’s getting worse.’

  ‘Overtime?’

  Sophia replied, ‘There always used to be endless overtime, because there’s too much work, but the budgets are smaller. The money comes in handy, and I’m never one to turn it down when it does come my way.’

  ‘How much were you doing?’ he said.

  ‘I was averaging about sixteen hours a week.’

  He raised an eyebrow at her.

  ‘Sound like a lot?’ she asked as she reached for her spoon.

  ‘It’s an extra two days a week,’ Dane said. ‘You were pretty much working every single day. How long did you keep that up for?’

  It was her turn to shrug. ‘As long as I could, and I’d do it again if the chance arose with a new budget on a new murder.’

  ‘Why do you need to? If you’re waiting for the fuck-wits in government to suddenly wake up and realize that decent officers are leaving in their droves, and those that are staying are at breaking point, you’ll be long retired.’

  Sophia tore off a piece of her paper serviette and rolled it into a ball before she said, ‘Retired? I’ll be fucking dead before I see a pension. Thieving bastards.’

  ‘Why did you join in the first place?’ he asked.

  ‘To work on murders.’

  ‘Disillusioned?’

  ‘You bloody bet,’ she replied, before pushing her drink away from her.

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I really don’t know,’ she said, as she settled back into her chair. ‘You see, I don’t have much choice about the overtime. I owe a bit of money, or rather someone I was seeing encouraged me to owe a bit of money.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Dane. ‘Mind if I ask what happened? Of course, if you’d rather not, I completely—’

  ‘He wanted to start his own business. He said I had a better chance of getting a loan in the steady secure world of policing, and that I’d get a more favourable rate if I . . .’

  ‘Re-mortgaged?’ guessed Dane.

  ‘Up to the eyeballs,’ she said. ‘He got the money and off he went. I thought about letting the house get re-possessed, but decided I didn’t want to let the dickhead win.’

  ‘That’s a depressing story,’ said Dane. ‘Some people are low-lives, no doubt about it.’

  Sophia felt better for telling him the truth, not because she wanted to share, especially with a man she’d only really just met, but because she actually felt ready to talk about it. She’d kept it from her wider circle of friends, and her family. There was no way she could have told her mum, not with her own financial worries. It felt good to talk to someone about it.

  ‘Shall we make our way back?’ said Dane. He flashed her a smile, glancing at his lit-up phone screen as he took it out of his pocket.

  ‘Just got to grab this,’ he said. ‘Shall I meet you in the car?’

  She nodded and headed towards the exit. Pulling her own phone out of her handbag, she realized that she had turned it to silent at Mrs Armstrong’s house.

  A text message flashed happily on the screen.

  Sophia, my name is Hannah. I need to speak to you about Dane Hoopman. Don’t trust him.

  Sophia read the message through several times, trying to figure out who Hannah might be and how she got her number. How would she even know she was working with Dane?

  Sophia glanced back towards Starbucks to see Dane pacing up and down outside the door, features hardened, his grip on the phone turning his knuckles white.

  Whatever it was, it appeared Dane had other things on his mind.

  Chapter 30

  It annoyed Sean Turner when anyone took longer than a few seconds to answer their phone. These people were on his payroll. They should jump when he needed them to.

  ‘Oh, you are there?’ he said, no attempt to keep the irritation out of his voice. ‘I was beginning to think you were ignoring me – it wouldn’t be the first time, after all.’

  He heard a sigh before Dane said, ‘I was with someone. I can’t just answer my phone whenever you call. You are aware of the job I do?’

  ‘Of course I’m aware of it; that’s why I’m ringing.’

  Sean paused, letting his authority hang over the conversation. Dane needed reminding that he was the one in charge here.

  ‘We need to speak,’ said Sean. ‘And I mean in person.’

  ‘That’s not going to be possible for a few hours. I’m at some motorway services at the moment.’

  ‘Where?’

  Sean heard a change in background noise, the unmistakable sound of someone trying to distance themselves from eavesdroppers.

  ‘We’ve been running around all over the south coast, achieving nothing so far,’ said Dane. He hesitated. He liked to hold certain things back from his boss; keep a certain level of control. ‘It’s nothing that would interest you,’ he continued. ‘Just some old people who were stupid enough to share their financial details over the phone and hand over their bank cards. It amazes me how fucking thick these twats are.’

  This news very much did interest Sean, but he wouldn’t share that information with Dane just yet.

  ‘Get anywhere?’ said Sean.

  He heard a hesitation before Dane said, ‘Not really. The operation seems pretty slick and most of the couriers they’ve sent to pick up the cards have been untraceable so far.’

  Sean took a second to digest this, unsure how much he wanted to tell his police officer at this time, and then said, ‘I’ve got a couple of other matters I need to speak to you about. We need to meet tonight. I’ve got some transport problems with a delivery guy of mine.’

  ‘I can’t keep ducking out of the office,’ said Dane. ‘I’ll probably have to work late, but I’ll try to get away this evening.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Sean. ‘We’ll say one a.m., basement club. Don’t be late. I hate that.’

  With that, Sean ended the call.

  For some minutes, Sean stayed where he was, phone in his hand, sat on a cheap wooden seat at the back of the holiday park clubhouse.

  It gave him a little time to think. This was a huge cause for concern. He had nearly £500,000 in cash to shift, as well as jewellery he’d defrauded from the dumb-witted public, just like the ones Dane had mentioned. With the police catching on, he’d have to act a lot faster than he’d previously have liked.

  There was no room for mistakes.

  Chapter 31

  Evening of Thursday 7 May

  Harry Powell had once again ended up being the last person in the office. As a detective inspector, he wasn’t entirely convinced that was the correct order of things. Long gone were the times he would drag out the day as long as possible, just to avoid going home and spending a couple of hours in front of the television ignoring Mrs Powell.

  These days, he was only too keen to get home to his girlfriend, Hazel. She understood that he needed some peace and quiet, more so lately.

  One of the reasons Harry was so late leaving was that he wanted to call Frank, Pierre’s fiancé. After Pierre’s death, Harry had met with him on a number of occasions, each one ending up being as emotional as the last.

  Twice Harry picked up the phone and twice he put it down, making excuses to himself that he had to get a coffee or send an email first.

  He steeled himself on the third attempt and dialled the number.

  ‘Frank,’ he said. ‘Hello, mate, it’s Harry.’

  ‘Hey, good to hear from you.’

  ‘Are you still okay to talk on the phone?’ said Harry. ‘Like I said
last time, it’s never a problem if you want me to come round or meet you somewhere.’

  ‘You’ve done enough for me, you truly have.’

  ‘You know how much I thought of—’

  ‘I know, I know.’

  Harry heard Frank’s voice catch.

  ‘There is one thing,’ said Frank, hesitation in his voice.

  ‘Name it, whatever you need.’

  ‘I probably shouldn’t bother you with this.’

  ‘I’d be annoyed if you didn’t.’

  ‘Well,’ said Frank, with an audible intake of breath, ‘I know that I shouldn’t talk about money, and it’s not as if I’m hard-up . . .’

  Harry felt his brow furrowing, muscles in his shoulders tightening. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I’m just going to come out and say it. I’ve been told that I won’t get Pierre’s life assurance benefit. He filled the form out years ago, put down his mum’s details and never got around to changing it, and as she’s got dementia, legally there’s nothing I can do about it.’

  ‘What the actual fuck?’ said Harry.

  ‘I know we weren’t married and didn’t have kids, but . . .’ said Frank. ‘I feel bad even mentioning it.’

  ‘Look, leave it with me,’ said Harry, forehead almost touching the desk, hand in his hair. ‘This is bollocks. I’ll find out and get back to you.’

  Once the phone call had ended, Harry sat for a couple of minutes until his temper was under control. In a move to calm himself, he walked into the incident room and wandered from desk to desk, perusing what each of his team had on their workspace.

  He wasn’t going through their paperwork or checking up on them, merely being plain, good old-fashioned nosy.

  It comforted him to know what they were all up to, and it kept his hand in. It was many years since he’d been a detective constable investigating rather than managing, attending endless meetings and worrying over budgets.

  Another of the reasons Harry found himself snooping about in the office at the end of the evening was because he wanted to find out if anyone had any of Pierre’s files. He could have asked Sandra or one of the others, but at the mention of him Harry knew he got upset, and tonight’s call to Frank wasn’t going to help that. He could have tried looking it up on the computer but, truth be known, all Harry wanted to do was sit at Pierre’s desk and lament the loss of his friend.