Don't Trust Him Page 9

  ‘Sorry, sounds as though I’ve woken you up?’

  ‘No, no,’ she insisted, sleep still weighing her words and tone.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry if you think I’m interfering, but after Pierre and everything . . .’

  Harry heard her sigh, or perhaps it came from him, it was difficult to tell.

  ‘I was only trying to make sure that everything was going okay with you, and that you’re getting on well with Dane.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to go. We were out of county on enquiries and stayed over in a hotel. We arranged to meet downstairs for breakfast.’

  With that she hung up.

  If Harry wasn’t very much mistaken, through the sound of what he interpreted to be the rustling of bed-clothes, he heard the noise of someone else in the room clearing their throat.

  He wasn’t sure whether to be surprised or disappointed that Sophia had given in to Dane’s charm.

  Chapter 21

  Sophia ended the call from Harry and shut her eyes. She had lied to her boss. Harry was decent, as decent a guv’nor as anyone could ask for, and she had lied to him.

  Dane’s arm snaked across her waist, reminding her that she was still in bed with him. She had lied to her boss and shagged a member of the team. She was really racking up the good moves this week.

  She felt his mouth kiss her bare shoulder, his hand as he moved it higher.

  ‘We should probably get dressed,’ she said. ‘You know, do some police work, that kind of thing.’

  By now, Dane had worked his way to her ear.

  ‘Really?’ he whispered. ‘Police work? Why would you even think of something so sensible and boring.’

  She pushed him back to the other side of the bed.

  ‘Because it’s our job and what we get paid for. We’re supposed to be on duty in less than half an hour. We haven’t showered or eaten and we’re nowhere close to checking out.’

  Dane shifted on the bed, propped himself up with one elbow, hand under his head. She couldn’t fail to notice his toned chest muscles, try as she might to keep her eyes locked on to his.

  Amusement flickered across his face.

  ‘What?’ she said, sitting up and pulling the duvet up to her neck. ‘What is it you’re finding so bloody funny?’

  ‘I love how serious you are about everything: we’re away in a hotel and you won’t even start your tour of duty half an hour late. Do you ever do anything wrong?’

  ‘Depends on what your definition of wrong is? I don’t take the piss, I don’t throw sickies and I do my job to the best of my ability.’

  ‘Look,’ he said as he moved to sit up next to her, ‘I know we get paid, I know some people have much tougher jobs than ours, but let’s be honest, we don’t exactly get an easy time of things, do we? When did we last have a pay rise, for a start?’

  Sophia shrugged.

  ‘Your future may be certain, but I’ve got to work for decades to make ends meet. I’ve only got, what, two years in this job. I’m at least going to make the most of it.’

  ‘So, Dane,’ she said, ‘what’s your suggestion?’

  It was his turn to shrug.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said, ‘but let’s start with a shower and breakfast.’

  With his final word on the subject, he threw back the covers, got out of her bed and took his clothes in the bathroom to get dressed.

  Barely two minutes later, he was back in the bed-room, standing with his hand on the door handle. He gave her a look she couldn’t read and said, ‘I’ll meet you downstairs for breakfast. We’d better get on and finish this job.’

  As Sophia sat alone in her hotel room, she wondered, not for the first time, exactly what she was doing getting herself mixed up with Dane Hoopman.

  Chapter 22

  Harry’s motivation was at rock bottom: he could no longer even pretend to his staff that all of their hard work was worthwhile. Morale was at an all-time low, people were leaving the police at an unprecedented rate, and almost half of the new officers they were recruiting were either leaving within a couple of years or getting fired for behaving like bell-ends. Some of them seemed to bring a whole new dimension to fuckwittery: one had just been dismissed for failing to declare he’d been in prison. Vetting had a thing or two to answer for.

  Not for the first time, Harry wondered who else was lurking in the shadows in this job. He got up and peered along the corridor to the incident room. Though he needn’t worry about corruption in his department, what with having fuck-all staff, as usual.

  He sighed and sat back down, ready to skim-read the ridiculous amount of emails that had filled his inbox overnight.

  A shuffling in the doorway made him turn his attention away from his desk.

  ‘Sandra,’ he said. ‘Am I pleased to see you.’

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘Not really, but come in anyway.’

  He attempted a smile at his detective sergeant as she entered and sat down, although she looked more wretched than ever.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he said, genuine concern for her showing in his voice.

  ‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ she said, fidgeting in her seat, looking uncharacteristically nervous. ‘And before I do, I’m sorry, and it’s not about recent . . . Well, you know what I’m trying to say.’

  The unwritten rule was that no one actually mentioned the crack that had appeared in the incident room following the loss of one of its integral parts. The crack that was now a chasm, threatening to suck them all into it.

  There was the merest of nods from Harry before he said, ‘You want to leave.’

  He fought the urge to add ‘me’ to the end of that sentence. This wasn’t personal – he hoped.

  A shrug.

  ‘Not exactly leave, leave.’ She looked away, to avoid his eye no doubt, and appeared to watch something out of the window.

  ‘I, er . . .’ she began. ‘I thought it was about time I got myself promoted.’

  This cheered Harry up in more ways than he could have hoped for. He threw himself back in his chair, the creak showcasing both the furniture’s age and his own weight gain. ‘That’s great news. What’s brought this on after so long?’

  ‘You know I’ve had the inspectors’ exam for some time?’ she said, face arranged in some resemblance of optimism.

  Harry had absolutely no idea Sandra Beckinsale had once sat and taken her inspectors’ exam.

  ‘Of course, of course,’ he enthused.

  ‘I thought it was about time I put it to some use,’ she said with either a smile or a grimace, it was hard to tell.

  ‘I’ll support you in any way, but you know I’ll be utterly gutted to see you go, don’t you?’

  These weren’t empty words. What little order they did have left in the office was all a result of Sandra’s dedication to the job. She’d been there for the whole team over recent months, especially the younger members who had found some comfort in her dependability and continued strong presence.

  Yes, he admitted to himself, he would actually miss her.

  ‘There’s an application I’d like you to endorse,’ she said. ‘If you don’t mind, and have the time.’

  ‘Send it to me and I’ll get it done today, as soon as I’ve seen the Bloomfields.’

  She gave him a curt nod and made to get out of the chair.

  ‘Oh, Sandra,’ said Harry. ‘What is it you’re applying for?’

  She failed to meet his eye again and said, ‘It’s an out-of-county opportunity reviewing a series of undetected murders for another force. It doesn’t guarantee my promotion, but I’ll be acting DI for up to two years.’

  He smiled at her. ‘Far too good an opportunity to pass up – more money, heading up something that’s no doubt high-profile, plus the chance to get the next rank up. Wouldn’t blame anyone for that.’

  Short of grinning at her like a maniac, Harry couldn’t have enthused more at her news if he’d tried.

  ‘Thanks for your
understanding, Harry.’

  This time, she did get up and leave the office.

  Another one leaving his broken incident room. And who could blame them.

  He heaved himself out of his chair, took a few steps towards the office door and strolled the few paces to the main office. A bank of almost empty desks greeted him, one or two occupied by officers tapping away on keyboards, frowning and muttering to themselves.

  Without realizing quite where he was heading, Harry found himself standing behind the chair his friend and colleague Pierre used to occupy. He reached out a tentative hand to touch the back of the seat, aware that the sound of fingers on keyboards had stopped.

  Harry’s team knew he was a broken man, yet no one could figure out what to say to him. He was their boss, the one they were supposed to go to for answers to their own problems. Harry’s rank didn’t necessarily mean he had all the solutions, but he was the conduit for the shit that slipped downhill and he always protected his team from the senior ranks, something they all knew and admired.

  That didn’t stop him looking like a man about to face his own execution.

  As he turned to make his way back to the sanctuary of his own office, the phone on Pierre’s desk rang.

  Harry bit his lip as an unknown local number flashed up on the phone’s display screen next to the words DC Pierre Rainer.

  His outstretched hand, now shaking, reached for the phone. With his voice as steady as he could manage, he said, ‘Incident room. DI Powell speaking. How can I help you?’

  For a few seconds, Harry listened to the voice at the other end stutter an apology for calling, especially after so long.

  ‘I . . . er . . . well, I heard about the officer, Pierre, on the news,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry. He was such a lovely guy.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Harry, hoping this call would soon be over.

  ‘You probably don’t even need it any more, but I’m calling from the jeweller’s. I’ve kept the CCTV he wanted for such a long time. He obviously never came back for it.’

  ‘CCTV?’ Harry asked, no clue what the caller was talking about.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Pierre came in last year for some CCTV from our shop front. I downloaded it for him, left the disk, then I was off sick, my staff couldn’t find it when he came in, and then he never . . .’

  It was several more seconds until Harry felt the air return to his lungs, the race of his heart return to its normal manic beat.

  ‘What was it for?’ said Harry. ‘The CCTV. What did he want it for?’

  A short laugh. ‘Not really sure, if I’m honest. It’s so old now, I doubt it’ll be much good for anything, but it was Pierre, you know. I was clearing out the office and—’

  ‘I’ll come and get it,’ said Harry. ‘Give me half an hour and I’ll be over.’

  He put the phone down, got his mobile from the office and took a walk into town to pick up CCTV for one of his officers who Harry knew would never have requested it without very good reason.

  Then

  I couldn’t lie to myself; since I’d talked myself into a job with him, things were going well under my new boss’s watchful eye. He didn’t exactly trust me – that much was obvious. I was secure enough within the fold that I didn’t feel like I was about to find myself propping up the foundations on a motorway flyover, but I still didn’t know much about the business, other than the fact we sold snide tracksuits from the back of lorries or ran the odd protection racket. I knew there was a lot more to it, and if I wanted to survive in this new role I had to find out what.

  Since talking myself out of being kicked to death in his basement, I had done as I’d promised him. Despite finding it hilarious at the time, he had actively encouraged me to get a job as a town-centre CCTV operator. He even got one of his moody business owners to give me a reference.

  It was pretty boring work, but I got to watch attractive women saunter around the town, especially when I was on nights. To my amusement, there were always pissed-up hen parties wandering around in their underwear in the early hours.

  The money and prospects weren’t up to much either, yet I carried on, rarely even seeing my boss for weeks at a time. Any information I had about what I’d seen happen in the town, I passed over at a weekly meet-up with one of his trustees in the Seagull Pickings, a horrendous cafe in East Rise. The boss himself seemed keen to stay out of the town, although apparently he had a very active interest in some of its residents.

  Today I had the pleasure of meeting some bloke called Milo, whatever the fuck sort of name that was supposed to be. I guessed it was to keep his real identity under wraps, yet as soon as he walked in – six foot or so, built like a shit-house door, dark suit and boots – it was obvious what he was.

  He ran an angry eye around the premises, earned himself a scowl from the surly waitress, skin the colour of Tango, and sauntered towards me looking like he owned the place. Trouble was, for about a grand, he probably could have. I don’t recall ever being in such a dire eatery.

  I’d deliberately chosen a table for four in the far corner, and I’d got there far earlier than I needed to so I could sit facing the door.

  He came around to my side of the table and, to my surprise, pulled out the cheap metal chair next to me. Once he’d thrown himself down in the seat and barked, ‘Love, white coffee – cheers,’ at the waitress, he glanced sideways at me.

  ‘Sitting next to me like that, aren’t you worried people will think we’re a couple?’ I said, fairly confident he wouldn’t punch me in the throat in public.

  He paused while our stroppy server slammed a white mug of strong coffee in front of him.

  ‘The boss would like you to step matters up,’ he said, making no attempt to drink the beverage in front of him. ‘Enough messing around.’

  ‘What exactly would he like me to do?’

  ‘It’s not what he’d like you to do, it’s what he’s telling you to do.’

  I was expecting matters to tick along as they were for another year at least. I’d been putting some money away here and there, ready to make my escape when the time was right. A change in direction wasn’t part of my plan, although it seemed to be part of the boss’s.

  I felt my throat go dry.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he said. ‘Run out of witty retorts?’

  ‘What does he want?’

  Milo sat back in his squeaky chair and folded his arms across his chest.

  ‘He wants you to move jobs. CCTV just isn’t doing it any more.’

  He stood up, took an envelope from his pocket and threw it on the table.

  ‘It’s all in there,’ he said, before walking outside into what should have been a glorious autumn day.

  Chapter 23

  Harry’s intention was to take Sandra Beckinsale with him to see the Bloomfields. The new incident he had asked her to sort out had put a stop to that.

  His detour to pick up CCTV from the town centre had made him half an hour later than he’d intended to be, and the last thing he wanted was to keep the family waiting any longer.

  With an eye on the front door, Harry got out of his car and made his way along the garden path.

  An ashen-faced Tanya King met him on the doorstep.

  ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Your dad in too?’

  Perhaps it was Harry’s earlier insistence on the phone that he give them the news in person that gave the impression she knew what he was going to say, or possibly she had looked so ill for so long, her face was now permanently haunted.

  He waited for her to close the door behind him. She was already crying before the latch clicked into place.

  The walk to the living room was short but terse, grief and despair coming off her in waves.

  Tanya’s husband sat in one armchair and Ron Bloomfield in the other. Both glared at him with no attempt to hide their disdain.

  Harry couldn’t really blame them.

  Without being asked, he sat down. ‘There’s no easy way to—’ he started to
say. Sobs escaped from mouths; gasps caught in throats.

  Harry looked at Ron. ‘The body found in Lower Lynton has been identified as your wife Jenny.’

  Tanya was shaking, holding her head. ‘You’re sure?’ she said.

  ‘I’m sorry, but yes,’ said Harry, turning to face her. ‘DNA has confirmed it and the clothes are similar to the ones she was wearing.’

  ‘How did she die?’ said Ron.

  Harry tugged at the knot of his tie. ‘The post-mortem, which was carried out late last night, revealed her neck was broken.’

  ‘Who would break her neck, for Christ’s sake?’ said Ron, face now shockingly white. ‘How has this happened to me?’

  It seemed a very strange thing for the widower to say, but then like Cathy Walters, Ron had hardly put in an appearance at Crown Court himself when his wife and son were both on trial for murder. It had always seemed odd, even if he thought they were both guilty, that he wouldn’t have been in the public gallery more often than he had been watching the fate of his family unfold.

  Although Harry wasn’t entirely convinced that Ron was guilty of murder, there were certainly a few things not right about him.

  He would have to keep a close eye on Ron over the coming days.

  Chapter 24

  On her journey with Dane back from the hotel, Sophia wasn’t sure whether to go for casual and chatty or silent and brooding. Clumsily, she went from one to the other.

  ‘Everything okay?’ said Dane after a long silence, breaking into her thoughts.

  ‘Yeah, terrific.’

  He looked across at her, concern creasing his brow.

  ‘Did I do something wrong, Soph?’

  She let out a sigh and instantly regretted it; coming across as wistful was the last thing she wanted to do.

  ‘What are we doing?’ she said.

  ‘I take it you don’t mean this fraud investigation.’

  ‘Wow, good-looking and smart. I feel as though I’ve struck gold.’

  Sophia bit her lip, instantly regretting her choice of words. Not only had she paid him a compliment, the last thing she wanted Dane to think was that she now felt they were a couple. She wasn’t even sure she wanted a relationship with him.