“Lucie, Lucie,” she interrupted in a voice only a shade below patronising. “The police have been slashed to the bone and face more cuts every day. There’s talk in Parliament right now about deploying the army to help them with knife crime! There’s simply no point in asking them to allocate resources to such an open and shut case.”
“No political mileage, you mean.”
“Excuse me?”
Lucie checked herself, not wanting to allow Robyn the satisfaction of seeing her lose control, but pressed home her point, fully intending to make clear she would not be letting the matter drop.
“Just like there’s no political mileage in looking into the others?”
“What others?”
“Six other women have gone missing, Amber,” Lucie quietly relayed. “All of them with similar backgrounds to the murder victim, all of them European Nationals, only there’s no trace of them and guess what? The investigations were all stopped before they got started, because of the need to ‘prioritse’ police activity. You know? British services for British people?”
The women’s eyes locked, neither wishing to break away or display anything that could be perceived as doubt in their own positions to the other. Robyn eventually rose from her own chair, leaning forward on the desk and never once dropping her eyes from Lucie’s, even to blink.
“I think that this meeting has come to an end. You may think me callous, Lucie,” she said, any trace of the temporary warmth between them now vanished, “but in an era of austerity, when the Will of the People is set against the influx of foreigners, sparse services should and must be reserved for the benefit of the indigenous population. Foreigners can always just go home.”
Lucie’s face twisted in contempt, the politician’s display of casual disregard for the lives and contributions of so many more than sufficient to light the flame of angry resentment in her gut. There was little point in arguing. Amber Robyn delighted in her reputation for controversy, and even if she had made her comment in public in full view of the cameras, she could be confident it would earn her praise from the army of internet warriors who hung on her every utterance to justify their own prejudices. This was a woman whose priority was hashtags and likes, not reason and argument, and Lucie stifled the urge to respond in fury at the barb, calming her voice and offering her counterpart a disdainful look of disgust.
“Just like that, eh?” she spat as she turned and headed for the door. “Maybe you could make us all wear little badges; a yellow star perhaps? It’d be easier to decide which ones to deport that way.”
Opening the door of the cramped and cold office, Lucie turned to stare a final time into the politician’s uncompromising gaze, and shook her head, her anger almost diluted by a sudden sense of pity. The contempt in Lucie’s eyes melted instead into sadness at the knowledge that there was nothing she could do or say that could bring the MP out of her intransigence, and she looked away as a lump began to form in her throat.
“Thanks for the drink,” she said.
NINE
Lucie replayed her conversation with Robyn again and again in her mind as she made her way back to Camden Town and the refuge of her flat. It had been as awkward a conversation as she expected, and she questioned for the hundredth time why Lake had insisted she go through with the meeting. One thing was certain, and that was that no political will existed to look any further into the disappearances, and that no matter how circumstantial it was, the evidence suggesting Ines was a closet prostitute was sufficient to close the minds of anyone with any kind of influence over the process.
The bustling of people on the pavements and spilling into the road beside her jogged Lucie from her introspection and she paused to stretch her lungs with a deep and satisfying breath and smiled as she took in her surroundings properly for the first time that day. It was nearly lunchtime and the glory of Camden Market was in full swing; the heart-warming colours and mouth-watering smells reaching out to tease Lucie from the trap door of her mood. All around her, stores, outlets and eateries were crammed together, filled with buzzing crowds. Opening up her senses as wide as her smile, Lucie allowed her nose to choose whichever scent was the most appetising and followed it to a stall where a grey haired and plump woman with rough, coarse hands and a radiant smile merrily filled a large wrap with her wares and handed it over; Lucie passing a crumpled note in return and dismissing the offered change which was instead gratefully dropped into a plastic tub marked ‘Staff’ beside the till. Sinking her teeth into the copious and bursting flatbread, Lucie cupped her hand beneath her chin to stop any falling contents from staining the grey paisley she wore and sucked a contented breath through her teeth to cool her mouth from the spices and heat which threatened for a moment to overwhelm her, before she swallowed and bit in again.
She had missed this. In the few months since she had been plucked by Lake from certain imprisonment and dumped in her run-down flat in this unfamiliar part of London, Lucie had isolated herself somewhat from anything and everything around her, choosing instead to focus on the jobs she had been assigned and the healing of her own precariously balanced mind. Her concentration had for the most part kept her from falling back into the depression which had tormented her so often since her hellish experiences in Afghanistan, but it had also blinded her to so much of what life was offering around her. In her days as a Chaplain in the RAF, she had tried each day to celebrate the little things, the simple joys which could, if allowed, outweigh so many of the negatives the world so consistently provided. Yet the coping mechanisms she had adopted had not only robbed her of her usefulness as a Minister, but also clamped her eyes shut against the pleasures in which she used to revel. Yes, the state of the country made her sick to her very soul, but she had allowed the emptiness and betrayal to ferment within her, by refusing to look for or even acknowledge the wonder of life around her.
Carrying on past the market Lucie composed a new resolution in her mind. She could never go back to how she was, too much had happened for that. Neither could she ignore the truth of both the world around her, and the world of espionage she had been plunged into the day she accepted Lake’s deal. But she did not have to define herself by it anymore. Lucie rounded the corner and glanced up at the brown and white bricked building she found herself beside. Two pillars guarded the blue doorway and a painted board in faded brown, upon which a white cross had been daubed, invited people inside for services and prayer. Lucie allowed herself a short laugh and a quick nod towards the building.
“Ok,” she smiled, “I get the message.”
Flicking her overcoat tails behind her, Lucie stuffed her hands deep into her jeans’ pockets and strode on towards home, her chest and her step lighter than she could remember. She was worried about Kasper, and despite the certainty of Amber Robyn, she still could not reconcile the thought that the murder victim she had begun to care for had died in the way the record insisted. Ordinarily thoughts and worries of this kind would marry together to tease and tempt her into an emotional response which itself would invariably lead to the depression that hung forever in the wings. As she walked, Lucie resolved not to allow herself to follow that pattern this time. Instead, she would be sure to take her medication as prescribed and make adequate time for the prayer and meditation she had ignored for too long, harnessing the focus it provided instead of clouding it with pure emotion. She would contact Lake, advise him of her morning’s discomfort with the obstinate Amber Robyn and follow through the investigation until she could be certain of the cause of Ines’ death; and while she was at it, find out what the hell had happened to the other missing women. And if by doing so she could persuade Lake to involve her in this Red Mako business, then all the better. If – when – Kasper awoke, she would be there to greet him with news of not one but two successfully resolved cases to help him on the road to recovery.
Anticipating her friend’s inevitably sarcastic reaction spread the smile which had crept onto Lucie’s face still further as she reached the deca
ying chippy, above which sat the crumbling and barely adequate flat she called home. Stepping around the corner towards the wooden front door, Lucie fished into her pocket for her key, her smile still wide upon her face, only to stop dead at the unexpected and tumultuous curse which greeted her appearance from the street.
The smile retreated instantly, replaced by a look of surprise and confusion as her eyes shot to the source of the profanity, only to be greeted by the furious stare of Detective Inspector Asif Ismail, who promptly swore once more.
The Police Officer stood outside Lucie’s front door, his eyes wide and projecting a mien of anger so unadulterated, Lucie was unsure at first if he was entirely stable. His forehead glistened with the tell-tale sign of day old sweat, accentuated by unshaven cheeks and chin above a shirt open at the collar; the tie that had adorned it the previous day now stuffed untidily into the pocket of the suit jacket which today appeared crumpled and unkempt. Lucie instinctively poised herself, ready to respond and reciprocate any attack, but taking the figure in, she knew that no assault was forthcoming. Ismail made no move towards her, instead remaining stood by the door and repeating his pointedly accusatory swearing. As his tone became increasingly despairing, Lucie held her hands out, hoping to clam the man long enough to discover both the source of his anxiety, and the reason why he was now outside her door with his mouth full of imprecations.
“Asif?” she began, her voice calm and measured as she stepped slowly towards him. “What’s wrong Asif, what are you doing here?”
The question was met with a harsh and cutting laugh.
“What’s wrong?” he repeated. “What’s bloody wrong? I could fucking kill you, that’s what wrong!”
“Why?” Lucie pressed, still calm and stepping closer still, her arms now out to the side in as open a posture as she thought safe. “What have I done to upset you?”
Ismail didn’t answer straight away, instead leaning against the faded paint of the door and sliding down until he was awkwardly sat on the ground beneath it, his head dropping into his hands.
“You know damn well what you’ve done,” he finally mumbled through his fingers, “you and that bastard mate of yours.”
“What mate?” Lucie frowned, her confusion increasing by the second.
“Lake!” Asif cried, lifting his head up to shout the name as though it were a despised incantation. “Mr fucking Lake!”
Lucie’s stomach tumbled at once into a sickening churn and she exhaled in frustration and anger as a thousand thoughts flashed through her mind, punctuated by the memory of her own first encounter with the enigmatic man who never gave away his first name. Lake only made open contact with people outside the Overlappers if he intended to recruit them, and he only recruited those he could enjoy some hold over. As she crouched down to join Ismail on the gravel by her door, watching as he shouted his impotent rage into his hands, Lucie could only wonder what the hell had happened to this man that had allowed Lake to plunge his hooks into him. And with her knowledge of the spy master’s modus operandi pushing its way to the front of her mind, she pondered with trepidation whether the Detective Inspector would ever be completely free of him.
TEN
The bright early afternoon sun had retreated behind grey and heavy late winter clouds, and the Inspector’s anger given way to exhaustion by the time Lucie persuaded him to come inside and talk through whatever disaster had befallen him. Her mood had not in any way brightened by the time he finished his outpouring. Between calming breaths and sips of steaming hot tea, Ismail recounted how barely hours after meeting and speaking with Lucie the previous day, he had been unceremoniously hauled into a meeting room to be confronted by a po faced Chief Superintendent, a frowning HR officer and a somewhat flustered looking Fed Rep, to be informed of his immediate suspension pending investigation into allegations of security breaches and leaking confidential information to unauthorised persons. Though no specifics were forthcoming he quickly reasoned that the root of the accusation was his conversation with Lucie, but his protestations that he had been liaising with the security services were dismissed quickly, as were his protestations of the rushed and very much flawed interpretation of the discipline process he was now subject to. After being curtly ordered from the premises, Ismail found himself immediately accosted on the street by a short, blading man with an unreadable face and a folder containing detailed notes of his life. The man introduced himself as ‘Mr Lake’ and presented Ismail with an immediate proposition: accept secondment to his team, working under the woman he had met that morning and the process he was now subject to would disappear. Refuse and he would find himself very quickly out of a job with an uncomfortable level of press attention following him.
Lucie grimaced as he recounted his story, recognising with grim distaste the similarities with her own induction onto the Service. Only on that occasion Lake had taken advantage of her situation, whereas now he had been the willing engineer of Ismail’s misfortune, and had used her as the unwitting tool to facilitate it.
“Bastard,” she whispered in condemnation of her boss as she looked across to the dishevelled Ismail, who sat crumpled on her sofa, his face as wretched as the story he had told. The DI’s ears pricked at the profanity and a cynical sneer tugged at his lip in response.
“Yeah,” he softly replied. “Isn’t he just…”
Lucie sat down in the chair opposite Ismail, and leaned forward, the concern on her face unguarded and sincere, though he pointedly ignored it.
“You’re all a bunch of bastards,” he mumbled, shaking his head as his anger began to visibly swell within him once more. “You’re as bad as him! Swaggering around like Janey Big Tits, with your SIS pass and your national security bullshit. You came to me for help and what the fuck do I get in return? Shafted by you and your bastard friends!”
His voice reached a crescendo and such was his rage that Lucie thought for a brief moment that he might actually try to attack her, but instead he clamped his hands once more to his face and sunk deeper into the sofa.
There was no point arguing with him, Lucie rationalised, as everything he said was right. It was his willingness to help her investigation that had brought him here, and if she was honest with herself, she had enjoyed being the one with all the cards when she quizzed him in the police station the previous day. But having lived through a similarly discourteous introduction to the Service, Lucie also knew that looking for people to blame and shouting at the moon wouldn’t help anyone, and it certainly wouldn’t aid the case. With the officer still emotional and raw, Lucie recognised the importance of keeping hold of her own emotions and making sure at least one of them in the room remained calm.
“Asif,” she began, inching forward further still as he turned his tired head away. “Hey, Asif, look at me!”
The command in her tone was as clear as her concern and the policeman’s face snapped back to her as though she were a superior on the parade ground berating his unpolished boots.
“I’m sorry you’ve been put through this,” she said, “truly, I’m sorrier than you know, but like it or not you are where you are. Now, do you want to clear your name?”
“Of course I bloody do!”
“And do you want to get back to work?”
“After this?” he stuttered, a note of hesitancy in his voice which ultimately gave way to one of determination. “Yes, yes I do.”
“Then that means you’re stuck with me until we get to the bottom of things and Lake takes his hooks out of you. I know you probably blame me for getting you into this mess, God help me, I would, but right now I’m your best and only chance of putting all this shit behind you and getting on with your life.”
“I’m a police officer,” came the indignant reply, “I’m not a bloody spy!”
“Do I look like a spy?” Lucie asked, laughing. “Spies aren’t what you think they are; the best ones are just normal people doing an unusual job and not gobbing off about it in the pub. You’re a DI, you must have been in
more than your fair share of scrapes in your career?”
“Just the odd one or two…”
“Then if you handled that, you can handle this. Come on, I need help on this!”
Ismail stood up and headed towards the door, pausing as he reached it and inhaling deeply, stuffing his hands into his pockets and letting his head drop to stare at the floor beneath him. Lucie stayed in her seat, knowing full well that only he could properly process everything and calm himself.
“You really need help?” Ismail finally asked, his voice calmer, the anger it had contained diluted into irritation.
“I do,” Lucie answered. “And I’d like it from you.”
“I don’t suppose I have much choice,” he rhetorically spat.
“Not much.”
Ismail turned back to face her, his handsome, if somewhat stressed features beginning to crease into a half smile.
“Do I at least get an Aston Martin?”
“You have to wait your turn,” Lucie smiled back as she stood up and held out her hand. “Janey Big Tits is using it right now.”
The name smashed through the tension in the room and Lucie was delighted to hear the hearty laugh that forced its way out of Ismail’s mouth and see his grin widen in self-conscious acknowledgement.
“Yeah….” He grinned, shaking his head at the bizarre situation that had taken hold of his life. “I didn’t think calling you ‘Johnny Big Balls’ was the most appropriate thing.”
“Quite right too,” Lucie grinned back, pleased to see the police officer regaining control of his emotions. Her empathy for the man was absolute, and casting her mind back to her own recruitment, she remembered how much she had benefitted from the kindness shown her at that time by a seasoned professional on the team, who had taken the trouble to spend time with her and ease her into her new life with a drink and a considerate word.
Sealed With A Death Page 6
