‘I’ll drive Andreas out to the Westway location tomorrow, if you like, sir.’
‘Very good, then back here to start looking through the new footage from Leroy.’
* * *
‘Director Stevenson seems very courteous as well as professional,’ Holzmann remarked as they drove west the next morning.
‘Mm,’ Mel replied, keeping most of her concentration on the traffic. She’d been given the use of an unmarked pool car, the last one available that morning. Of course, the fuel tank had been nearly empty. She didn’t have a charge card so she used her own credit card. Klara would have got it organised for her if they were still in Brussels, but Klara was gone. Mel swallowed hard.
‘Yes, he’s very tough,’ she said. ‘He was some high-up in the UK interior ministry.’
‘You don’t like him?’
‘I respect him enormously, but like him? I’m not sure. I think I may go a little too much off-piste for him.’
‘And McCracken?’
‘Him! He nearly arrested me for Gérard’s murder. He’s cynical and talks in a stupid way. But I admit he’s a good colleague and knows what he’s doing. But we argue about everything.’
Holzmann laughed. His blue eyes sparkled. ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’
‘How long have you got?’
23
Mel introduced Holzmann to the temporary supervisor who had taken over from Joanna Evans and once settled in, left them to it. Her next few hours would be sitting staring at screens with McCracken. Again. She’d make sure to go for a run this evening. Perhaps she’d get back into her normal sleep routine as a result.
On the security ramp leading down to the garages under Friars Green station, she waited for the metal gate to slide back. Holzmann’s question about Stevenson played on her mind. Ever since she’d outlined her idea of a drone getting into the Triangle Building, he’d hardly addressed a word to her. Of course, he was busy directing the investigation and spending hours in meetings and talking at all hours with colleagues overseas. But it seemed strange. She shrugged. She was here to do a job, not make friends.
Upstairs, she handed in the car keys and vehicle document, signed it off and made her way back to the conference room. McCracken was already there. He merely nodded, then turned back to the screen. She scanned his notes; so far, the visitors aligned perfectly with the digital and analogue registers. She got out her own notebook.
‘Shall I watch the video while you check against the sign-ins?’ she asked.
‘If you like.’ McCracken sounded as if he didn’t care either way.
Two minutes later, the door opened, and a uniformed constable hesitated in the doorway, scanning the room. He wove his way to the screens, negotiating between the chairs and the additional desks, and stopped behind Mel.
McCracken looked up.
‘Hello, Joe. What can we do for you?’
‘Inspector.’ Joe held out an envelope to Mel. ‘For Miss des Pittones.’
‘What’s this about?’ McCracken’s voice hardened.
‘Nothing for you, Inspector.’ Joe laid the envelope on Mel’s keyboard and left.
‘Don’t touch it!’ McCracken said, but Mel had already picked it up.
‘Why on earth not? And who was that man?’
‘That was Constable Joe Wells, the Police Federation representative.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Like a trade union. They represent their members’ interests.’ He looked straight at her. ‘I don’t think what’s inside is going to be good.’
Mel ripped open the envelope and scanned the formal letter inside.
‘They have to be joking. I’ve never read anything so ridiculous.’ She threw it down on the desk. ‘Who’s responsible for this nonsense?’
‘Calm down, and keep your voice down.’
‘I will not.’ She looked at him. ‘You knew.’
‘I heard a vague rumour, but I thought it was locker room talk.’
‘You didn’t think to mention it to me?’
‘I was too busy being thumped in the face at the time.’
Mel tightened her mouth, embarrassed at the memory. She jabbed a finger at the letter. ‘This Robbins person is threatening to have me charged with assault unless I make a full and public apology. I was defending myself. I’m going to see Superintendent Fredericks and get this sorted out now.’
‘Wait before you do anything,’ McCracken said. Five other faces were staring at him. ‘What are you lot looking at? Noses out of the air and back on the grind.’ He turned back to Mel, but she’d rushed out of the room before he could say anything else.
* * *
‘I’m sorry, Miss des Pittones, but the superintendent is away in a meeting,’ Kylie said smoothly. Mel knew the assistant was her principal’s gatekeeper, but Fredericks was the only one with enough authority to quash it. ‘Perhaps Mr Stevenson would be more appropriate,’ Kylie continued.
‘No, this is a police internal matter.’
‘Well, do you want to run it past me? In complete confidence, of course.’
Mel hesitated. Kylie would tell Fredericks, of course, but she doubted this prim efficient woman in front of her would take it down to the sleazy level of the locker room.
‘If you have a moment, perhaps you could give me some technical advice,’ Mel said. Kylie didn’t exactly smile, but she closed her screen and stood.
‘Let’s use the super’s room.’
Perched on one of the easy chairs grouped round the small coffee table, Mel waited while Kylie read through the letter. She watched the other woman’s face become more disapproving as she read.
‘This is nonsense, of course, but he’s used the correct procedure. Well, we’ll have to go one better, won’t we?’ She folded her spectacles and held the ends of the legs between her thumb and forefinger.
‘Robbins is known as a nuisance, but he’s managed to slip out of anything worse than a warning. This time you have a witness. I know it’s one of his colleagues – Mason – but he’ll want to protect his own skin. Are you willing to take the battle to the enemy?’ She smiled. ‘Everybody thinks I sit at home with a couple of cats and the television at weekends, but I read a lot of historical fiction and take part in re-enactments. You learn a lot about tactics that way.’
‘Lead on, ma capitaine!’ Mel said and grinned.
Kylie guided her through online forms, submitted it and printed out two copies of each. ‘One set for you to keep as a record and one for you to hand deliver.’
‘That will be my pleasure.’
* * *
Mel asked the desk sergeant where Robbins could be found. He looked surprised.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Very sure.’
She pushed the canteen door open. Five tables were occupied. Mel spotted Robbins; he was giving a dirty laugh at something another colleague had said. Mason sat at the same table, not saying anything.
Mel stood still just inside the entrance until everybody stopped talking and turned to watch her. She heard a male voice say, ‘Look out, it’s Frenchtits.’ She turned her full gaze in the speaker’s direction. After a moment, he looked away.
Walking slowly toward their table, Mel held up the two letters.
Robbins gave her a crude half-grin, half-sneer.
‘Come to say sorry, have we?’
Mel said nothing.
‘I think you should go down on your knees and give me something else.’ He laughed. One of the other officers tittered.
Mel waited until they were quiet again. She glanced round, noting she had a good audience.
‘This letter is for you, Constable Robbins.’ She slipped it into his hand between his thumb and forefinger, so he grasped it by instinct. She took a step towards Mason and smiled at him. ‘And one for you, Constable Mason. You both have fourteen days to submit your defence statements.’ She held up her phone. ‘Oh, by the way, I’ve recorded our conversation and will submit it during the hear
ing.’
She turned about in a perfect circle and marched out.
* * *
‘That woman’s been to the loo three times this afternoon. Must be something in the water.’ McCracken rubbed his eyes. He looked as bored as he sounded. They’d been scrutinising the video footage in detail all afternoon and had reached the afternoon of the day Duchamps had dropped off the ‘sandwich’.
‘Maybe she ate something that disagreed with her. Hold on. I’ll check.’ Mel tapped fast. She was finding her way round the databases with great ease by now. ‘Jeanne VanWillt, according to the recognition software. Ah, she’s five months pregnant and leaving in six weeks’ time on maternity leave.’
‘She’s on reception. Why is she using the visitor loo? Why not the staff one?’ He zoomed in on the video.
‘Because the visitor one is within ten metres of her desk. The nearest staff one is on the next floor up.’
‘But why—’
‘Don’t you know anything, McCracken? She’s pregnant. Women wee a lot then, even early on. I had to take one of my junior NCOs out of the field for that reason.’ She peered into the screen. ‘Oh look, there’s Mr Ellis. I could ask the same question.’
‘He won’t be pregnant.’
‘Well, he’s a bit soft but that would be a miracle.’
McCracken chuckled, but they duly recorded Ellis.
‘Oh, blimey, there’s the boss.’
Mel rewound five seconds and watched Stevenson’s black and white image cross the screen. ‘He’s come in the building, gone to the loo then to the door leading to the stairwell. How strange.’
‘Yeah, strange all right,’ McCracken replied. ‘Never knew watching a toilet could be such fun.’
Just after seven, they handed over to the evening team who would rerun the footage and recheck against the personnel and visitor movements.
Mel picked up her backpack and slung it over her shoulder.
‘Fancy a drink and a bite to eat at the pub?’ McCracken asked as they walked down the corridor to the entrance.
She looked out into the gloom. ‘I was thinking of going for a run, but that rain’s not very inviting. Yes, I could kill a beer.’
He grinned and was about to open the front door when Joe Wells pushed through from the corridor opposite the lobby. His face was flushed pink and he was frowning.
‘Stop. Stop right there. I want a word with you, Pittones.’
‘It’s Investigator des Pittones to you, Constable Wells. What can I do for you?’
McCracken gave her a puzzled look.
‘You know bloody well what it’s about.’ Wells brandished the letter and form that Mel had delivered to Robbins in her face.
‘Yes?’
‘This is just malicious. You’re trying to blacken a long-serving police officer’s career just because you can’t take a joke.’
‘Oh, I didn’t know sexual harassment was taken to be a joke around here. How enlightening. I’m sure your internal affairs people will be interested to hear that.’
The desk staff and three other officers in the lobby were all watching.
‘You won’t get away with it.’
‘I’m not trying to get away with anything,’ Mel said. ‘I’ve filed a justified complaint. I suggest you coach your officer in writing out his submission ready for the hearing.’
Wells stomped off and the other officers dispersed. A woman officer gave Mel a discreet thumbs-up sign.
McCracken pulled Mel back down the corridor.
‘What the hell was that about?’
‘If Robbins thinks he can slap a frivolous charge on me, he’s just learnt that he can’t do that and not expect consequences. He should have left it alone. If he wants a fight, he’s going to get one.’
‘You don’t do anything easy, do you?’
Mel stared at him.
‘Why should I make it easy? He went to grope me. I defended myself and he has the arse to charge me with assault. Well, he’s playing in the fast lane and he’s too slow to see the traffic coming towards him.’
‘If you make it stick, he’ll lose his job and his pension and could be put on the sex offenders register.’
‘Which is where he belongs.’
‘Now you’re being unreasonable. And we have an investigation to pursue. This is just a distraction.’
‘No, you’re just not seeing it. Or won’t.’ Mel shifted her bag on her shoulder. ‘Forget about the drink. I’m no longer in the mood.’
24
Despite the freezing rain, Mel strode down the main road. What an arse McCracken was. What was his problem? Siding with his fellow officer, a man? Not wanting to upset the federation? She knew from the support all the women were giving her, Fredericks apart, that it was time Robbins was called out. Well, stuff him and stuff McCracken.
The cold rain was soaking her hair and dribbling down her neck. She looked around for the orange light of a black cab, but they were all busy. After five minutes, she clambered on the first bus that came along. What the hell was she doing in this horrible place? She’d wanted to know what had happened to Gérard, but now she’d found out too much about him – a side she’d never even suspected. Perhaps she’d been a fool to have trusted him so much.
She rubbed the steamed-up window to see where she was. Dieu, she was already halfway down Park Lane. She got off at the next stop. She’d walk back to the nearest Tube or try again to find a taxi. Then it struck her; she hadn’t seen Aimée since Gérard’s funeral and her flat was only three minutes’ walk away.
‘Mélisende. What are you doing here?’ Aimée’s disembodied voice crackled out of the entryphone speaker.
‘I dropped by on the off-chance.’
The door buzzed and Mel hurried inside.
‘What on earth happened to your hair?’ Aimée stared at her.
‘Um, it’s raining.’
‘Don’t be facetious. Come in and dry off at least.’
Showered, wrapped in one of Aimée’s velour robes and hands cupping a coffee dosed with cognac, Mel felt warmer and calmer. She looked down at the dry fire grate with its glazed red vase and silk sunflowers and gave Aimée the edited version.
‘I’m very sorry to hear that Gérard wasn’t as honest as you thought,’ Aimée said after a minute. ‘Obviously, I won’t say anything to anybody. Papa would have a seizure.’
‘I think he knew more than he was letting on. He hinted at something at the funeral.’
‘Really?’ Aimée’s eyes widened. ‘How strange. But he never discusses money matters with me. What are you going to do now?’
‘Go back to the apartment, then go to work as usual tomorrow.’
‘You are obtuse sometimes, Mélisende. I meant with the investigation and this posting.’
‘I’m stuck with the EIRS for another two years, but I hope we’ll move out of London as soon as possible.’ She smiled. ‘I know it’s a bizarre thing to say, but I’ll be delighted to be back in Brussels. Perhaps we’ll all settle into a routine and I can try to get back into my boss’s good graces.’
‘Stevenson’s a strange one, isn’t he? I asked my head of station about him. Apparently, he was an excellent field officer and it’s rumoured he was very busy in Eastern Europe in the nineties tracking down new mafia organisations that sprang up after glasnost.’ She shrugged. ‘Who knows? It may just be gossip. But he married a Russian, the daughter of one of the people he put in jail, but she died a year later in a car accident. Six months after that, most of his in-laws were dead. All natural causes, apparently.’
Immobile, Mel stared at Aimée. ‘I had no idea. I did a background search on him, of course, but didn’t find any of that. I suppose this is why he’s so motivated in fixing “ripples”.’ She set her cup down. ‘Thanks for this. I’d better be getting back before it turns into snow out there and everything grinds to a halt.’
‘Stay over if you like. I’ve got enough supper in the fridge and you know where your room is.’
/> * * *
It had snowed but by 8 a.m. when Mel left the next morning, only areas untouched by people and vehicles were still coated with a thin layer of white. The brown-grey slush splashed her jeans, but at Green Park she would dive into the warm fug of the Tube. Ten minutes later, she turned off Curzon Street into Clarges and bumped into a man wearing sunglasses. Odd on both counts. How could she have been so careless?
‘Sorry,’ she said, and shifted to the side. But he moved with her. She tried again. He mirrored her action. She took a quick step sideways into the road to get past him, then she’d run.
Cold steel jabbed at her neck.
‘Stay still. Don’t even breathe. Back on the pavement.’
Another man was behind her. A car drew up, braked, showering her with slush. She cried out as if shaken by the sudden cold, ducked and smashed her foot hard on the first man’s knee. He staggered and fell. She spun round. Clasping her two hands into a double fist, she thrust them up to punch under the second man’s chin. With a grunt, then a cry, he staggered back.
Mel grabbed her backpack strap and belted down the rest of Clarges Street zigzagging until she came out onto Piccadilly, crowded with morning commuters. She dived into the corner coffee shop and down into the ladies. Taking some deep breaths to calm her thudding heart, she locked herself into a cubicle.
Who the hell were they? And to attack her in broad daylight in the middle of Mayfair. Sure, Clarges was one of the quieter streets, but even so. Presumably, they were going to push her into that car. She rubbed her hands. They were throbbing; that second bodyguard’s jaw had been like concrete. She waited ten minutes – a hell of a long time to sit on a hard lavatory seat with feet drawn up to stay invisible to prying eyes.
She glanced at her watch: 8.30. She only had to sprint across the road to the Tube station. Once she was in the Underground system, she could use several ways to shake off a tail. She crept up the stairs, opened the door to the shop a couple of centimetres and scanned the customers. Nothing out of the ordinary, just people sitting in their individual worlds, most tapping away on their phones. Out in Piccadilly, she ran across between the buses lumbering along, dodged a taxi and on the opposite pavement ran into the arms of Roland Fennington.
Double Identity Page 14
