by Danny Miller
‘What’s wrong?’
‘He needs to have his nose surgically removed from Superintendent Mullett’s arseh—’
‘He’s young, he’s keen, he’s—’
‘A brown-nosing little prick who’s at risk of making enemies amongst the rank and file,’ persisted Frost.
Sue Clarke shook her head.
‘You don’t think he’s overly ambitious? I’m telling you, he needs reining in.’
‘I fully agree. I’ll have a word. That’s not the reason I’m shaking my head, Jack. You’re wearing it, then? You’re actually, actually, actually wearing it.’
Frost followed her withering gaze and glanced down at his tie. ‘I thought you’d be pleased. You always say what a scruff I look. Thought I’d save it for a special occasion. What better than John’s big night.’
‘And you do look very smart … apart from the tie.’
‘It was a gift, Susan, from you, if I remember correctly.’
‘Yeah, I got it for you this Christmas, as a secret Santa. It was … a joke? I got Arthur some Incredible Hulk underpants.’
‘And I’m sure he’s very grateful and probably wears them every day.’ Frost flipped the skinny PVC tie to examine its keyboard design. ‘My only other black tie had a couple of big fag burns on it. Last wore it to Mary’s funeral.’
She winced. ‘That’s the problem. It’s not a black tie. It’s a black and white tie, like a keyboard.’
He shrugged. ‘It was the nearest I could get.’ He then craned his neck as he spotted Kim and Waters entering the function room.
Clarke waved at the couple and Waters came over, leaving Kim to chat with her colleagues from Rimmington CID.
‘Here he is, the man of the moment!’
‘Copper of the year!’
‘Nice tie, Jack.’
‘Sue bought it for me. Secret Santa.’
‘She got me a “I Shot JR” T-shirt,’ said Waters, winking at Clarke. ‘Four years after the event, but I treasure it.’
After some more banter about the pros and cons of Frost’s tie – pros: it angered Mullett; cons: everything else – they sat down and more drinks were ordered. Kim came over, Frost and Clarke stood up, greetings were exchanged, cheeks were kissed, and again, all praised the man of the moment, John Waters. Kim and Sue complimented each other on their frocks, agreed they both looked far too glamorous with their sequins and taffeta, rhinestones and ruffles, gelled and glittery hairdos, and would be more suited to a South Beach disco in Miami Vice than a municipal building in downtown Denton.
Meanwhile, Crockett grabbed Tubbs’ arm for a private conflab, and ten minutes later they were on the marble stairs of the town hall, and out of sight or hearing of Mullett and Winslow. And yet, as Frost filled Waters in on his meeting with Captain Cavanagh, there was still enough conspiratorial intrigue swirling around the subject for both men to speak in hushed tones.
‘… So what was in the box?’
Frost gave a slow and sly smile as he saw that Waters was sporting the same look that he himself must have been wearing when Captain Cavanagh told him the story. John was practically drooling.
‘A clue. It’s Russian, it’s beautiful, very precious, and it’s made out of metal. And it’s not a Lada.’
‘Come on, Jack, what was in the bloody box?’
Frost shushed him. ‘An egg. A Fabergé egg. But a very special Fabergé egg. About twelve inches in height, about six inches at the fattest part.’
Waters’ face stretched in all directions as his eyes widened, his jaw dropped, and he still managed a grin from ear to ear. ‘My God, I’ve only ever seen photos of them. And that one in Octopussy.’
Frost raised his eyes to the ceiling and shrugged. ‘I stopped going after Diamonds Are Forever.’
‘This one sounds huge. They’re not normally that big, are they?’
‘No, never. It’s a complete one-off. But as big as it is, and believed to be the largest and most jewel-encrusted one ever produced … that’s not what made it so special. It was made for the Romanovs.’
‘The executed Russian royal family?’
‘Unless you know of another.’
‘Get on with it!’
‘It’s not just one egg we’re talking here. The egg was designed like a Russian doll, each one contained another. Eight eggs in all. The largest outer egg representing Mother Russia herself. The other seven representing members of the family, the second largest being Tsar Nicholas II, then the tsarina, gradually going down through the children to the very smallest, little Alexei. The smallest egg is carved from Alexandrite, a precious stone found in the Ural Mountains in Russia, and named after Alexander II, an earlier tsar. Each egg is engraved in Cyrillic with the name of the family member.’
‘And this Captain Cavanagh told you all this?’
‘In great detail. He even showed me a facsimile of the original design as drawn by Carl Fabergé himself, specifying the jewels to be used.’
‘And it’s never come on the market?’
The DI gave a solemn shake of his head. ‘It was commissioned by Tsar Nicholas himself and went straight to the royal family. A Christmas present in 1916, a gift from a grateful nation, as the Tsar described the expense. Or as the Bolsheviks would have it, more precious baubles paid for by the blood and toil of peasants. Either way, the egg disappeared just before October 1917. Never to be seen again.’
‘So what’s its value? I forget how much the one in Octopussy went for …’
‘Forget bloody fiction, John, this is real! Those eggs can go for five, ten million? Twenty …? But this one, who can say?’
‘Priceless. Making it … worthless?’
‘There’s always someone willing to buy something like that for whatever the seller is asking for it. But the thing that makes it so valuable, and dangerous, is the secret that brought this Russian artefact to London in the first place. And that alone could, according to Captain Cavanagh, not only have brought down the government of the time, but the Royal Family.’
‘Our royal family? The House of Windsor?’
‘Unless you know of another.’
John Waters shook his head in disbelief. He then started to laugh.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘I can’t believe I’m being told this by a man in a piano keyboard tie.’
‘I’m wearing Frosty the Snowman socks, too.’
‘Secret Santa? I got you those. So this big secret that could topple the House of Windsor, what was it?’
‘Captain Cavanagh wouldn’t tell me that bit. And who knows, maybe he doesn’t know. And by the sounds of it, knowing what the secret was could be worth more than your life is worth.’
‘How about Conrad Wilde and Jimmy McVale – they must have known?’
Frost considered this. ‘Only after opening the box. My theory is: McVale and his team knew there was a big pay-off in that vault, but didn’t really know what it was. And if they’d known all the aggro it would cause them, maybe they wouldn’t have stolen it in the first place.’
‘Like the Great Train Robbers?’
‘Exactly. But that was bundles of cash. This was a box full of secrets. A right Pandora’s box.’
‘If McVale and Conrad knew the secret … they’ve done a good job of keeping it quiet.’
‘They had to. If they admitted knowing the secret, they would have to admit to stealing the box in the first place. And two criminals like that? The powers that be would have them snuffed out in a minute. That’s the real curse of the Bond Street caper, the information. Once you set eyes on it …’
John Waters mouthed bloody hell then said, ‘Maybe that’s why they buried Conrad in the prison system? He started talking, so they had him certified and stuck away for life?’
The inspector blew out his lips and raised his hands palms up in a gesture of complete cluelessness. ‘I’m the only one not togged up as James Bond tonight, but I reckon spooks are definitely on the case. Who knows, maybe in Denton ri
ght now.’
Sunday (4)
‘… I’m very grateful for this, it means a lot. But I was just doing my job. And it could have been any one of us stood up here getting this award. Because I know my colleagues at Eagle Lane, and I know that every copper in this room would have done the same …’
Applause went up for this, and there were a good few cheers of approval from the audience. John Waters was up on stage to receive his award, something modern-looking in stainless steel and Perspex to collect dust on the sideboard, as well as a very official-looking medal in a velvet case, which would probably live in the sideboard drawer. His speech was short and sweet and very heartfelt.
It was when Waters got around to thanking his wife, Kim, who was sitting with Frost and Clarke, that the first tear fell from her eye. Frost and Clarke exchanged nervous glances surreptitiously, but not surreptitiously enough. Everyone knew that Kim had lost the baby, it was a badly kept secret. Naturally enough, she had taken time off work after the miscarriage, and to help John through the early stages of his recovery. But now the rumoured cracks in Waters’ marriage were becoming visible, and public. Frost and Clarke had noticed that Kim was necking the white wine at an alarming rate, and by the time John had stepped up on stage to collect his award from the ACC and the mayor, the tabloid term ‘tired and emotional’ could have been coined for her.
‘You know …’ said Kim, seemingly addressing neither Frost nor Clarke, ‘… we’re all sitting here, having a drink, a laugh, and slapping each other on the back for all the great work we do … and yet there’s still a little kid out there … Ruby … missing … not home with her mum and dad …’ Now she focused in on the two detectives, as if demanding an answer.
Clarke said, ‘That’s what we do, though, isn’t it? We do the work, we do it as well and as hard as we can. We’re all on call now, all night. We do our job, but we can’t take it home with us every night. We need a night like this, Kim. To let off a little steam, and to celebrate the victories, and celebrate what your husband’s done.’
‘But sometimes we do take it home … every night, for ever … we do … we bloody well do!’
Kim shot to her feet, almost fast enough to knock the table over, and certainly fast enough to knock over some glasses. All the attention in the room was now centred on her. Up onstage, her husband stopped talking and turned towards her.
There she stood, frozen in the moment, tears coursing down her glittery cheeks, a trail of mascara advertising her emotions. Clarke grabbed her hand. Frost didn’t know if she was pulling at it, trying to get Kim to sit back down, but the move failed. Kim ran out of the function room, bouncing off the backs of her colleagues’ chairs like a pinball until she reached the exit. Clarke wasn’t far behind, ready to catch her if she fell, but realizing that her leaving the room was the best thing.
John Waters cut his speech short, got a round of uncomfortable applause, and left the stage to tend to his wife. He had to pass Frost’s table to get to the exit and his DI was ready for him. Frost blocked his way, his hand resting on Waters’ chest, where he could feel his heart thumping away.
‘Susan’s got it, John … she’ll talk to her … trust me, mate,’ he whispered in Waters’ ear.
‘You’ve got a kid, right?’
‘I have. A boy.’
‘Philip?’
‘That’s right.’
‘John’s mentioned him. Said he’s got a wicked little smile.’
Clarke pulled a wicked little grin herself at the thought of him. ‘He has. But to tell you the truth, he’s got a wicked little everything at this age.’
Kim and Sue were on the same steps that Frost and Waters had been sitting on earlier. The ladies’ toilet had proved unsuitable for a good chinwag, heart to heart, or whatever this conversation was turning out to be. But they were in the loo long enough to freshen up, powder their noses, reapply some lippy, and for Kim to wipe away her panda eyes.
‘This is my first missing-child case since I’ve had Philip,’ said Clarke. ‘We’ve had them wander off the Southern Housing Estate for a few hours, run away and come back, stay at friends’ and forget to tell their mums. Then there was … well, the two boys last year from the SHE. Dean and Gavin. But this is the first time there’s been anything like this, an abduction.’
‘How does it make you feel, as a mum?’
‘Not as a policewoman?’
‘I’m a policewoman, Sue, I know how that feels.’
‘It scares me. I know he’s safe, tucked up in bed by my mum, who’s probably read him more bedtime stories than I ever could. But I can’t separate the two. I was a copper long before I had Philip. And as Ruby’s case goes on, the deeper we dig, there are clues that tell us it’s not just a random snatch. And that’s what I wanted to hear. It sounds horrible, but to me that was the most important thing … still is. That there is a reason behind it, something in the past to do with an adult. Somehow it makes me think that if I can keep my side of the road clean, I can keep my boy safe.’
‘I bet you’re a great mother.’
‘I’m not. I’ve got a great mother, who sometimes annoys the hell out of me, but takes up a lot of the slack. Like tonight, as I say, she’ll read him as many stories as he wants.’
‘Must be hard, working and …’
‘Life is. Sometimes. And, yes, I’m a single mum, so people automatically assume it is.’
‘I didn’t mean—’
‘That’s OK. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. Or maybe I would, you know – being married to Richard Gere would be quite nice. But seeing as I’m lucky enough to live in Denton, which is nice and flat, and Richard lives in Beverly Hills, and I don’t like hills, I’m sort of contented with my lot.’
This achieved what Sue had set out to do and got a laugh out of Kim. Clarke knew the Rimmington DC wasn’t by nature the morose woman she had been in the last six months, and it was nice to see her smiling.
‘And anyway,’ continued Clarke after the laughter subsided, ‘I wanted a child more than a man. You’re lucky. You can’t see it, but you are. You can have both.’
‘I don’t know if I can … If I’ll be able to conceive again.’
‘You’ve been told that?’
‘It’s a feeling.’
‘Don’t mistake those for facts. If there’s one thing this job has taught me, it’s that.’
‘Then here are some more facts. I don’t know if I want to try again. I don’t know that John wants to try. He wasn’t that keen in the first place. Maybe … maybe he got what he wanted, and maybe this is a good place to end it. The marriage.’
Clarke wasn’t expecting this. In an effort to modulate her surprise, and as her mind scrambled for something appropriate to say, she focused on a green mark four steps ahead of her. She soon realized it wasn’t something totally disgusting, just a crumpled and waxy lime-green Opal Fruit wrapper.
‘Listen, Kim, I won’t even pretend to understand what you’ve been through, and maybe I’m completely out of order and have got it completely wrong, but that just seems—’
‘I don’t know if I love him any more … or if he loves me. The house has become like a bad flat-share. Sometimes I dread it when he comes in, I pretend to be asleep.’
‘Have you spoken to him about this?’
Kim shrugged, and now seemed to be focusing on the same Opal Fruit wrapper.
‘Can I take that as a no?’
‘Probably.’
‘I think that might be a conversation you’d really, really remember, Kim?’ Again, Kim laughed. ‘And for what it’s worth, I think that might be a conversation you need to have. With him, not me.’
‘That’s the conversation I’m dreading. I know we can’t go on like this. Maybe I’ll find out stuff I don’t want to.’
‘I don’t know, Kim. At one point, I thought I wanted to make a go of it with Derek, Philip’s dad, but he went and got himself killed, didn’t he. Doubt it would have worked. Without wanting to sound lik
e a really crap song, I don’t know what love is, not really. Which sounds sadder than it is, and I have to admit every now and again I feel a little bit lonely, but not much. And I’m sure I’ve never felt that strongly about any bloke, not really, not until they’re gone, walked out the door.’
Kim sat up straight as a thought hit her. ‘That sounded like two crap songs … and one really quite good one.’
‘Sing it.’
‘Which one?’
‘Whichever one you fancy.’
‘Don’t tempt me, I’m drunk enough.’
‘And the acoustics in this place are perfect … Go on, sing it.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Yeah, you can, why not?’
‘I’d like to say, because I don’t want to make a complete arse of myself, but I think it’s too late for that.’
‘Probably. But I’ll be more than happy to join you, if you feel like making even more of an arse of yourself.’
‘Where is our man of the moment?’ asked Sandy Lane.
‘Last I saw him, he was with Frost,’ replied Mullett.
Lane shook his head. ‘Scuppered, then. Looks like you’ve lost him if he’s with Jack. Jack hates these things, far too stiff for him.’
‘Stiff?’ repeated ACC Winslow, obviously incredulous at the idea that the event was in any way deficient.
Lane was with his young nephew snapper, angling to take a group picture of John Waters together with Stanley Mullett, John Barksdale (the new Rimmington super), ACC Winslow, the mayor, and a local Tory councillor, who soon drifted off once he realized the photo op with the hero cop wasn’t forthcoming.
The mayor was the next to make his excuses: ‘If Shaft turns up, I’ll be in the gents, then I’ll be at the bar.’
‘Don’t forget to pull your chain, your lordship.’
‘Very good, Sandy, never get sick of hearing that one.’
The hack turned his caustic attention to the three senior coppers. ‘Tell me, Mr Mullett, what was all that about with his missus? She ran out in floods, got some nice pics, real top-tier pap stuff. But we need some background.’
Winslow and Mullett, obviously embarrassed at Kim’s antics, pretended nothing had happened. Sandy Lane told them it did happen, and his spotty nephew had the pictures to prove it. But Lane stressed again he needed some background.
