by Val McDermid
“As things have turned out, it looks as if that was a wise precaution. We haven’t had your full cooperation, after all.”
“You don’t get away with bugging a senior police officer’s room, whoever you are, madam.”
“Your intervention at this juncture is tedious and utterly pointless, Superintendent. You have satisfied yourself as to the well-being of Miss Gordon and I suggest that you leave now.” Barber’s tone suggested that she was not accustomed to being thwarted.
But Rigano refused to be intimidated. “Where are we up to, Lindsay? What’s the deal?”
“I would advise you not to reply, Miss Gordon. Superintendent, you have no standing here. I strongly advise you to leave.”
“You might not think I have any standing here, madam, but I’d have thought you’d welcome any intervention that might sort this business out. Now, will someone please tell me what the offer is?”
“It’s simple, Jack,” said Lindsay. “I sign away all my rights, promise to forget everything I know, and Simon Crabtree gets to kill Debs.”
Exasperated by the situation spiraling out of her control, Harriet Barber got to her feet and said angrily, “Don’t be absurd. Superintendent, we expect Miss Gordon to sign the Official Secrets Act and to be bound by it. We expect the return of any secret material still in her possession. She will not refer to the events of this evening or to her theories about what has happened at Brownlow to anyone, on pain of prosecution. Not unreasonable, I submit.”
“That’s the sanitized version,” interrupted Lindsay. “What she misses out is that Crabtree stays free to take whatever steps he wants against Debs and that if I write the story I’ll be silenced. Permanently.”
“No one has threatened your life,” Barber snapped.
“Not in so many words,” Lindsay agreed. “But we both know that’s what we’ve been talking about.”
Rigano shook his head. “This is bloody silly. This is not the Soviet Union. People don’t get bumped off because they possess inconvenient knowledge. You’re both making a melodrama out of a molehill. Do you really think that any newspaper’s going to print her story? For a kickoff, no one would believe her. And besides, you can easily shut up any attempts at publication.
“There’s no need to threaten Miss Gordon with dire consequences because she’d never get any editor to take the chance of using this stuff. She’s got no evidence except the computer tape and that means bugger all at the end of the day. All you need from her is her signature on the OSA and the return of the tape. You don’t need threats.”
“But what about Deborah?” Lindsay interrupted. “Crabtree’s going to walk away from all this believing she knows something that can put him away. You can’t protect her twenty-four hours a day for ever.”
Rigano looked puzzled. “I still don’t bloody see why you people want Crabtree free. He’s a bloody spy as well as a murderer.”
Barber frowned. “He has uses at present. He will eventually pay the price for his activities. That I can guarantee.”
Rigano jumped on her words. “So surely until that happens you people can put Deborah Patterson into a safe house.”
Lindsay shook her head. “I can’t trust them to look after her. Their organization’s probably penetrated at every level already without Simon Crabtree hacking his way in. Besides, this lot would do a double-cross tomorrow if it fitted their notion of national security.”
“And there’s the impasse, Superintendent,” Barber said. “She doesn’t trust us, and we don’t trust her.”
Rigano thought for a moment, then said slowly, “There is one way.”
Cordelia counted the cigarettes left in the packet. She fiddled with the radio tuner, trying to find a station that would take her mind off the terrifying possibilities that kept running through her head. She looked at her watch, comparing the time with the dashboard clock. He’d been in there for more than an hour. She lit another cigarette that she knew she wouldn’t enjoy and stared back at the dark cluster of buildings in deep shadow under the severe overhead lights that led from the road. As she watched, a tall man came out of the main gate and started walking in her direction. She paid little attention until he stopped by her car expectantly. Wary, she pressed the switch that lowered the window until a two-inch gap appeared. She could see a blond head of hair above a windproof jacket. His eyes glittered as he asked brusquely, “Cordelia Brown?”
“Yes,” she answered. An edginess in his manner urged her to caution.
“I have a message for you.” He handed her a note.
Cordelia recognized her lover’s familiar handwriting and her stomach contracted with relief. She forced herself to focus on the words, and read, “Give the copy of the computer tape to the man who delivers this if you’ve got it. It’s all right. L.” She looked up at the man’s impassive face. “What’s going on? Am I going to see her soon?” she pleaded.
“Looks like it,” he said. His voice was without warmth. “The tape?”
She fumbled in her bag and handed him the unlabeled cassette.
“The note as well, please.”
“What?” she asked, puzzled.
“I need the note back.” Reluctantly, she handed him the scrap of paper.
Cordelia watched him walk toward the gate and gain admission. Unnerved by the brevity of the encounter she lit another cigarette and searched the radio wavebands again.
The digital clock on the dashboard showed 2:01 when the barrier at the gate rose. Cordelia stared so hard into the pool of light by the gate that she feared the sight of Rigano’s car followed by Lindsay’s MG was a mirage. She sat bolt upright in her seat, then hurriedly got out of the BMW. When the other two cars reached her, they stopped, and their drivers emerged. Lindsay and Cordelia fell into each other’s arms. For once, no words came between them as they clung desperately to each other. Rigano cleared his throat noisily and said, “You promised them I’d have the printout by ten. We’d better get a move on, hadn’t we?”
Lindsay disengaged herself from Cordelia’s arms and rubbed her brimming eyes. “Okay, okay,” she said. “And we have to work out the details of how you keep your end of the bargain. We’d better go back to London in convoy. I hope you’re going to give us the benefit of the blue flashing light.”
“Is someone going to explain what’s been going on?” Cordelia demanded. “I’ve been sitting here like a lemon half the night, going out of my mind with worry.”
“Later,” said Lindsay.
“No,” said Rigano. “No explanations. That’s the deal, remember.”
Dawn was fading the streetlights into insignificance by the time they reached Highbury. Cordelia drove off to garage her car while Lindsay went indoors to collect the printout. When she returned Rigano took the papers, saying, “What arrangements do you want me to make?”
Lindsay spoke abruptly. “I need to make some phone calls. If the hospital say it’s okay, then I’ll act tonight. Unless you hear from me to the contrary, I’ll expect your men to be gone by seven. And I don’t want anyone following us.”
He smiled grimly. “There won’t be.” Rigano raised his hand in mock salute then turned and walked back to his car as Cordelia arrived at the door. After watching him accelerate out of sight, Lindsay buried her head in Cordelia’s shoulder and burst into tears. “I’ve been so bloody scared,” she sobbed. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
Cordelia led her indoors and helped her upstairs. Lindsay’s muscles felt like jelly and she was shivering. “Tell me about it later,” Cordelia said as she undressed her and got her into bed. “Sleep now and we’ll talk later.” Lindsay fell back on the pillows and fell asleep almost immediately, sprawled across the bed like a starfish. Cordelia looked down at her exhausted face with pity, and decided to sleep in the spare room to avoid disturbing her.
Lindsay woke at noon to the sound of the phone ringing. She grabbed the receiver and was immediately deafened by a raging Duncan. She lay back and let him rant till he fin
ally ran out of steam. “So what’ve you got to say for yourself?” he yelled for the third time.
“I was in police custody till six this morning, Duncan,” she explained. “I wasn’t allowed to make a phone call. They had got it into their heads that I was withholding information concerning the Rupert Crabtree murder and they were giving me the third degree.”
The phone crackled into life again as Duncan’s rage transferred itself to Fordham police. Again, Lindsay let the storm blow itself out. As he threatened for the fourth time to sue the police and have questions raised in Parliament, Lindsay butted in. “Look, it’s all over now, Duncan. It won’t serve any purpose to jump up and down about it. Anyway, I’m on the trail of a cracking good exclusive connected to the murder. But I’m going to have to drop out of sight for a couple of days while I get some info undercover and look up a few dodgy contacts. Is that okay?”
“No, it’s not bloody okay. What is this exclusive? You don’t decide to fuck off chasing whatever rainbows you fancy just because you’ve had a lucky run with a few stories. Tell me what you’re following up and I’ll let you know if it’s worthwhile.”
Lindsay could feel a headache starting somewhere behind her eyes. “I don’t exactly know where it’s going to lead me, Duncan, but I’ve discovered that there’s an MI5 man involved somehow in the fringes of the murder. I want to dig around a bit and see if I can find out what the intelligence angle is, see what it’s all about. I think it could be a belter, Duncan. I’ve got that feeling about it. One of the coppers has hinted to me that there could be a security angle. But I’ll have to keep a low profile. I might be out of touch for a day or two.” She kept her fingers crossed that the gamble would pay off. There was a pause.
“Till Monday, then,” he said grudgingly. “I want a progress report by morning conference. This is your last chance, though, Lindsay. Piss me about like yesterday again and no excuses will do.” The phone crashing down at the other end nearly deafened Lindsay, but she didn’t mind. She had got her own way, and Duncan was only indulging in office bravado in order to terrorize her colleagues.
Sighing, she got out of bed and quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and a thick sweater. She pushed her head round the spare room door to see Cordelia apparently sound asleep. It was good to be home again. The events of the last twenty-four hours had convinced her that in spite of her frequent absorption in her own concerns, Cordelia was still totally committed to her. Grabbing a pocketful of change on her way out, Lindsay headed across Highbury Fields. She was going to have to be careful. It was at times like this she could use Cordelia’s help but it was too risky to involve anyone else unnecessarily. Lindsay couldn’t justify to herself the act of confiding in Cordelia for her own selfish reasons. She put these thoughts to the back of her mind as she reached the phone box. She wanted to be sure these calls weren’t going to end up on one of Harriet Barber’s phone taps. She called Fordham General Hospital where, under the guise of a close relative, she eventually found a doctor who was prepared to admit that it would now be possible to move Deborah without untoward risk, though he personally would accept no responsibility for this.
There followed a series of phone calls including one to her parents in Argyllshire. She made the necessary arrangements with the minimum of fuss, then headed back home. She put some coffee on, then stripped off and dived under the shower. She spent a long time luxuriating in the hot water, putting off the moment when she would have to waken Cordelia and tell her she was about to go missing without trace again. It wasn’t something she relished, particularly since the business of Deborah still lay unresolved between them.
She emerged from the shower and wrapped the towel around herself. In the kitchen, Cordelia was staring moodily into a mug of coffee. Lindsay squeezed past and poured out her own. She reached across the table for a discarded packet of cigarettes and nervously lit up.
Cordelia picked up the morning paper and began to read the front page. Lindsay cleared her throat and said awkwardly, “Thanks for last night. If it hadn’t been for you, I don’t know what would have happened.”
Cordelia shrugged. “Least I could do. I do worry about you, you know. Ready to tell me about it yet?”
“I’d rather wait till it’s all sorted, if that’s okay. I’ve got to go away again for a couple of days.” Cordelia said nothing, and turned the page of the paper. “We’re taking Debs somewhere she’ll be safe. Once that’s done, I’ll be able to tell you the whole story. It’s not that I don’t trust you—but after last night, knowing how heavy these people can get, I just don’t want to expose you to any risks. I don’t enjoy being secretive.”
“You could have fooled me,” Cordelia said with a wry smile. “Okay, Lindsay, you play it your way. When will you be back?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll call you when I know.”
Lindsay swallowed the remains of her coffee and went back to the bedroom. She dressed quickly, then she threw knickers, socks, shirts, and jeans into a holdall, grimacing as she noticed how few clean clothes were left in her wardrobe. Everything else she needed was in the car or Deborah’s van already. She finished packing, and turned to find Cordelia standing just inside the room, leaning on the doorjamb.
“You are coming back?”
Lindsay dropped her bag and hauled Cordelia into her arms. “Of course I’m coming back.”
19
Closing the front door behind her, Lindsay felt weariness creep over her at the thought of the day ahead. She got into the MG, noticing how badly she’d parked only seven hours before. The memory of her ordeal threatened to overwhelm her, so she quickly started the car and shot off. Driving, as usual, restored some of her equanimity and she was fairly calm by the time she reached Brownlow. She went straight to the Red Cross bender and found Jane lying on a pallet reading a novel. Lindsay marveled once again at the ability of the peace women to indulge in perfectly normal activities in such an outlandish situation. Guiltily breaking in to Jane’s much-needed relaxation, Lindsay sketched out what she needed and why. Her sense of urgency transmitted itself to Jane, who agreed to the plan.
Lindsay waited until dusk, then borrowed a 2CV from one of the peace women. Going first to the hospital, she made a brief reconnaissance before heading back to the camp. She linked up with Jane as arranged and hastily they loaded the van with their own bags. Then Lindsay made up the double berth and got Cara ready for bed.
At twenty past seven, Lindsay got into the MG and shot off down the winding lane away from the camp, heading in the opposite direction from the hospital. A quarter of a mile down the road she spotted a set of headlamps in her rearview mirror. Once she hit the outskirts of the town, she figured, her pursuer, this time in a green Ford Escort, would have to close up or risk losing her. Her calculations proved right. Thanks to her earlier homework she shook off the pursuit by doubling back down an alley and taking a short cut up a one-way street in the wrong direction. Then, driving in a leisurely fashion to a small industrial estate near the motorway, she tucked the MG into a car park behind one of the factory units. Jane was waiting for her in the van. Together they made straight for Fordham General. Lindsay directed Jane into a small loading area at the back of the main hospital building.
Lindsay crouched down beside Cara, who was lying in bed, drifting in and out of sleep. “I want you to promise me you’ll stay here very quiet till we get back. We won’t be long. We’re going to fetch your mummy, but she’ll still be very poorly, so you’ve got to be very gentle and quiet with her. Okay?” Cara nodded. “I promise we won’t be long. Try to go back to sleep.” She stroked Cara’s hair, then joined Jane outside.
They had no difficulty in reaching Deborah’s side ward without arousing untoward interest since it was still during visiting hours. Lindsay quickly scouted round to make sure the area was not under surveillance before the pair of them ducked into Deborah’s room. In the thirty-six hours since Lindsay had last seen her, Deborah had made a noticeable improvement. She was propped up on
her pillows watching television, the deathly white pallor had left her skin, and she looked like a woman in recovery mode. Even the drips had been taken out. When they entered, she grinned delightedly. “At last,” she said. “I thought you’d all forgotten me.”
“Far from it,” said Lindsay, going to her and kissing her warmly. “Listen, there’s no time to explain everything now. But we’ve got to get you out of here. The doctors say you can be moved safely, and Jane’s promised to take came of you.”
Jane nodded, picking up the chart on the end of the bed. “It looks as if your condition is quite stable now,” she remarked. “Don’t worry, Deborah, you’ll be okay with me.”
“I don’t doubt it, Jane. But what’s all this about, Lin? Why can’t I stay here? Surely I must be safe enough or the police wouldn’t have left me unguarded?”
Lindsay sighed. “I know it looks like I’m being really high-handed about this, but it’s because I’m scared for you. You were attacked because Rupert Crabtree’s murderer thinks you know something that can compromise him. I’ll explain all the details later, I promise, but take it from me that the police won’t arrest the person who attacked you. He doesn’t know that, though. So you’ve got to get out of the firing line or he’ll have another go.
“I’ve managed to arrange somewhere for you and Cara to stay for a while till the heat dies down, somewhere no one will find you. I don’t trust the police to take care of you, so we’re doing it all off our own bat, without their help. Will you trust me?”
“I don’t seem to have a lot of choice, do I?” Deborah replied. “But I don’t know how you’re going to get me out of here. I tried getting out of bed this afternoon. It turned out to be a seriously bad idea.”
It was a problem that hadn’t occurred to Lindsay. But Jane had already found a solution. “A wheelchair, Lindsay,” she said, smiling at the look of dismay on the other’s face. “We passed a couple outside the main ward, in an alcove. Can you fetch one while I get Deborah ready?”
