by Adam Carter
Baronaire glanced to Thompson and rolled his eyes. Thompson seemed to agree with him and turned to slap her own partner about the back of the head. “Come on, Jerry. Places to be.”
“Just twenty minutes more,” Jeremiah sniffed, blowing his nose. “I need to see if Anna realises what a loser she’s with.”
Thompson sighed, folded her arms. “She doesn’t. Goes off on the train with him to their new life. Then she has a change of heart, the train stops for her and she runs back into the arms of the man she really loves.”
Jeremiah looked up at her, set the tissue box aside. He stood, all semblance of tears gone from his eyes, his sniffles cleared up immensely. “Boring film anyway. Ready when you are, boss.”
Thompson walked out the door and Jeremiah stopped to say goodbye to Baronaire.
“You sure you’re OK, pal?” he asked. “You’re not yourself.”
“Just tired I guess,” Baronaire replied. “And making mistakes. But I don’t plan on making any more.”
“You sure?”
“Jeremiah, I’m fine.”
Jeremiah looked like he was about to say something else, shrugged, and clapped his old friend on the back. As he walked past Lin he offered her a playful grin. Lin shuddered. There was no sincerity behind the grin, no substance at all. And the eyes were cruel, twisted things. In all, his expression told her he was a hunter on the prowl, and she felt almost physically sick just from that single look.
When they were alone once more she said to Baronaire, “I don’t like him.”
“I don’t think anyone in WetFish is an especially likable character, Lin.”
“What, not even me?”
“Detective Lin: the Friendly Murderer.”
Lin’s face was stone. “It’s not murder when it’s sanctioned by the government.”
“Sure,” Baronaire replied with playful eyes of his own; but at least there was some semblance of true joviality in there, “but good luck finding it written in any records. Anywhere.”
They continued with their assignment, Lin once more driving. It gave Baronaire the opportunity to rest his eyes, and Lin wasn’t complaining. She had joined the force some years back and had stumbled across strange murders more than once that didn’t add up. She had talked to her superiors about it, but no one seemed to care if criminals were dying. In truth Lin didn’t care either; but she was insatiably curious. She began to gather cases, looking into all the tidiest killings she could find. She read reports about gang members wiping each other out, rape victims committing suicide, but taking out their attacker first, even criminals taking their own lives and leaving perfect notes behind. The reports showed none of the incidents were suspicious. The suicide notes for instance were always written in the handwriting of the deceased, using their spelling and grammar, and no fingerprints were ever found on the suicide weapons other than those of the deceased. In fact, every case was easy, tidy, and filed away quickly. And in this business a case closed was a case closed, and it all counted towards the end of year figures.
But it didn’t settle well with Lin. These cases were too tidy. And the more she looked into the files, the more of them she discovered. Then one day she discovered the link.
All the deceased from these tidy cases had been on trial some time previously. Sometimes a week earlier, sometimes a year; but always had there been a court case. And in every court case the accused had been found not guilty.
Suddenly Lin had realised she wasn’t imagining things.
It had taken her another six months of digging, but finally she came across a name. The name of an operation whose purpose seemed a little too tidy as well. Officially they were a care in the community operation, but Lin could not find any records of actual results they had turned in. She found some reports, certainly, but nothing in them matched up with anything in the database. It was as though this operation was submitting false information, and no one seemed to care.
The name of the operation was WetFish.
Lin couldn’t ask for advice even from her superiors. WetFish was a legitimate arm of the law, so if it was turning in false reports unquestioned it meant the people at the top knew all about it. And if Lin started asking the wrong questions she could very easily disappear. There were people she trusted at work, but by involving any of them she ran the risk of them disappearing as well. Lin did not of course know just what WetFish was capable of, and she had no real evidence to suggest they were connected with these murders at all.
Save for one report.
It was recent, but a call had come in from a frightened woman. Her name was Laura Reynolds, and she was hired as a part-time cleaner for a wealthy employer: a man who had been found not guilty in a court of law. She had just walked in on someone having murdered her employer. Lin read the report and her expert reasoning had decided that the man’s actions were those of a man cleaning up a crime scene: a man making sure the police would think the deceased committed suicide.
Lin knew this was a police officer himself, someone who worked for WetFish. It was her first and only break. This was what she had been waiting for.
She had contacted DCI Edward Sanders, the man in charge of WetFish. She asked him for a transfer and he told her gruffly to go through proper channels. Before he could hang up on her however she blurted out the name of Laura Reynolds. Sanders had paused, asked her who that was: he honestly didn’t know. So Lin had told him, and while he said nothing she got the impression this was the first he was hearing of it.
He put the phone down and Lin knew she could now only wait. He would either send someone to kill her or he would ring back.
Twenty minutes later he rang back, told her he had verified the information and would she like a job?
Replacing the officer whose name she still did not know, Lin’s first assignment was to track down Reynolds and deal with her. It wasn’t quite what she had in mind when she had made the call, but at least she was getting somewhere.
And if she could get enough evidence on Detective Chief Inspector Edward Sanders she could bring down the entire operation. Going to her superiors would be stupid, but the press would be more than interested. WetFish would be disbanded, Sanders would disappear, and the Met would of course deny everything. But it would be over, and Sanders would never operate again. Lin would have shut down the most insidious police operation ever.
She would have saved countless lives.
“Pull in here.”
Lin jumped, had thought Baronaire was asleep. His eyes were open now and he looked very tired, but he was determined to get on with the job and Lin had to admire that. She did as she was told and parked her car. They were still one street away from where they were headed, but Baronaire clearly did not want to spook the women Reynolds lived with, or Reynolds herself if she had been foolish enough to head back home. Lin found herself hoping for Reynolds’s sake she had not.
The two officers headed for the house in silence. As they headed up the steps to the front door Lin thought about moving around the back, but she did not want to leave Baronaire alone with these women for even a moment. Lin knocked on the door and waited. After a few moments she could see someone moving about behind the frosted window, and the door opened a crack. There was a woman peering out, having opened the door on the chain. She was of average height, wore her black hair long, and had a south-eastern European tan about her.
“Yes?” she asked in an accent which betrayed her origins as Turkey or possibly Cyprus.
“We’re looking for Reynolds,” Baronaire said before Lin could say anything. He spoke in his usual gruff manner and winced as the pain of one of his wounds stabbed at him suddenly. “She in?”
The woman appeared a little disconcerted. “What do you want with Laura?”
“Police,” Baronaire said, producing his identity card. “Now open the door.”
The woman frowned, puzzled, and Baronaire lost his patience. He slammed the door with the palm of his hand and there was an audible snap as the chain
tore away. His other hand grasped the startled woman about throat to stifle her screams, and he was inside the house before she even realised what was happening.
All of this took but a second and even Lin was left standing shocked upon the porch.
“Inside,” Baronaire barked at her.
Lin followed him in, closing the door after her: she hardly had any choice now that he had forced their way in. She followed her partner through the hallway and into the living room. There was sparse furniture, a television and a gas fire. Lin appraised the situation quickly and decided the three women who called this place home had very little money between them.
Baronaire threw the woman into a chair and said, “Don’t scream. Just tell me where Reynolds is.”
The woman was shaking, physically incapable of screaming, and Lin glowered at Baronaire as she crouched beside her. “Go check the rest of the house,” Lin told him. “And if you find anyone, be tactful.”
“Epitome of tact, me,” he said and wandered off.
Lin turned back to the frightened woman. Baronaire was certainly hot-headed, but sometimes things had to be handled gently, even in this job. “I’m sorry about my partner,” she said. “My name’s Sue.”
“Alison,” the woman managed without even realising she was speaking. “Alison Stannard.”
“The name doesn’t match your accent,” Lin noted with a gentle smile.
“I changed my name when I came to England. Thought it might help me get a job more easily.”
“And did it?”
Alison shook her head.
“I know this isn’t the way things should have been done, Alison, but we really do need to find Laura.”
“What’s she done?”
“Nothing. But we need to talk to her.”
Alison glanced to the door through which Baronaire had vanished. “He doesn’t just want to talk.”
“No,” Lin agreed. “Which is probably why you should tell me where I can find her. Before he does.”
“Laura ... has a cleaning job.”
“I know. Her employer was found dead.”
Alison’s eyes widened. “And you think Laura did it?”
“No. But she was there. Which means she can identify the man who did do it. And,” Lin added as a lie, “whoever did kill him might be after her, to make sure she doesn’t talk.”
“She has other jobs.”
“I don’t think she’d be headed to work, not after what she saw.”
“Then she’ll be with Lucy.”
Bingo. “Lucy?”
“We all live here. Lucy works in a hairdresser’s. I don’t know where.”
“What’s it called?”
“I don’t know. It’s in the high street.”
“There’s no one here,” Baronaire said, barging back into the room. “Let’s go.”
Lin looked to him and hissed, “In a moment.”
“Now. And you,” he said icily to Alison, “if you breathe a word of this to anyone, believe me you will have something to fear the police for. Lin.”
Lin was aghast at how Baronaire had treated this situation, but he was already out the door and she knew if she did not get back to the car in time he would certainly leave without her. “Remember to get that lock fixed,” she told Alison and hastened after her partner. She caught up to him just as he was reaching the car: she had had to run, while Baronaire, even wounded, hadn’t broken a sweat. “What was all that about?” she snapped from across the car.
“What was what about?” he asked as he opened the driver’s side and sat down.
“We’re supposed to be a low-profile operation,” she said, taking the passenger seat because it was all he was leaving her. “You think Sanders is going to like us breaking into people’s homes and scaring them half to death?”
“Sanders doesn’t have to know every little thing we do, Lin. Drucker.”
“What?”
“Lucy Drucker.” He tossed her a photograph. It was of a woman of around nineteen years with a cheery round face and bright sparkling eyes. “Found that upstairs. Now we know she works in a salon we can just go in and talk to her.”
“Agreed,” Lin said through gritted teeth, “but let me do the talking this time, all right?”
Baronaire started the car. “You don’t like the way I operate, fine. But this is my case, Lin. You’re just tagging along. You need to remember that.”
“Actually it was assigned to both of us. I’m just as much a part of WetFish as you now, Baronaire.”
“Well at least you’ve started calling me Baronaire now.”
Lin said nothing. There was no talking to people like that. But then what did she expect from an operation this corrupt?
CHAPTER FIVE
Her stomach rumbled, and Lucy Drucker knew just what she wanted. The good thing about working in the high street meant she could go absolutely anywhere for lunch and not have to wolf down her food. In the summer she had liked to take her food to the park and read her book while she relaxed; but it was too cold for that at the moment, so Lucy headed into the shopping centre. As with most shopping centres there were a few different places to eat, and Lucy bought a wrap from a stall which had outside seating. Shoppers passed by her table on their various errands and she ignored them all as she sipped her hot coffee, setting her handbag on the seat next to her. She drew out her book and settled down comfortably.
She was certain she could hear a snake in the potted plant behind her head.
Craning her neck she saw someone hiding behind it. The woman was her own age, with enviable scarlet hair and a natural tan to die for. Strangely enough today she was wearing a hat and sunglasses. Sunglasses inside, in winter.
“Uh, Laura, what’re you doing?”
“Is anyone watching you?” the bush whispered.
Lucy blinked. “Watching ...”
“Don’t turn to me! Just ... look around a bit. Do you see anyone watching you?”
Lucy did as she was told. “No.”
There was a rustling and suddenly Laura was sitting opposite her. Lucy realised then there was a problem. Laura was paler than usual, and she was visibly shaking. As she removed the sunglasses Lucy could see her eyes were filled with shock and more than a little fear.
“Good Lord,” Lucy said, “what happened?”
“They’re after me.”
“Who?”
“Mr Smith? The guy I clean for? He’s dead.”
“Whoa. What happened? You vacuum him to death?”
She could see by Laura’s lack of reaction this was serious.
“I saw who did it,” Laura was saying. “Some guy in a suit. He was ... he was writing out a note, cleaning up the place.”
“He was making it look like a suicide? Wow, you should go to the police.”
“No!” Laura shrank after her outburst, glancing nervously about in case anyone had reacted. No one even noticed. “No,” she said more quietly. “They’re not going to be able to protect me. They never do on TV, it always goes wrong.”
“Uh, Laura? This isn’t TV. Come with me, let’s call the police together.”
“No.” Laura grabbed her by the arm and Lucy realised then just how frightened she was. “I don’t know why, I just got a bad feeling about going to the police. I ... I don’t know. I need space to think. I need to get away from things.”
“Laura, listen to me.” Lucy placed a reassuring hand over her friend’s trembling one. “You don’t have a choice in this. They’re going to want to talk to you. You’re their only witness, they need to know what happened.”
Laura snapped her hand away. “You don’t understand.”
“What don’t I understand?”
“I think he was one of them.”
“Who was one of whom?”
“The murderer. I think he was a copper.”
“Now that’s just ridiculous.”
“I know. But he reached for something when he saw me – maybe a gun – and I saw a badge in
side his jacket.”
Lucy was having a difficult time following her friend’s chain of thought, and said, “But Laura, cops don’t wear their badges like that. That’s just on TV.”
“Well maybe this cop thought he was on TV,” Laura said hysterically.
“Laura, don’t be silly. Just come back with me and I’ll ...”
“No,” Laura said, rising, knocking the chair over as she did so. “No, you’re going to get me killed.” She ran, knocking into another table, capsizing the pot plant, before disappearing down an escalator. Shocked, Lucy watched her go, shoved her book and wrap into her handbag before grabbing her coffee. This was not her idea of a relaxing lunchtime, but something told her Laura was serious. She honestly believed the police were after her.
And Lucy had to help her.
Lucy ate her wrap on the escalator, searching for her friend, although Laura had long since vanished, either into the crowd or into a shop, Lucy could not say. Lucy strolled through the shopping centre, peering into windows, staring at faces in the crowd, but there was no sign of Laura at all. Just what Laura had wanted from her she had no idea. She’d just told her the news, said the police were after her, and run off again. What Lucy was supposed to do with that information she had no clue.
After a while it became clear to her she wouldn’t be able to find Laura, so, tossing her rubbish in the bin, Lucy headed back to work. A light rain was falling, attacking the snow which still clung tenaciously to the pavement, and Lucy drew her coat tight about her, keeping her head down. The hairdresser’s where she worked came into sight and she slowed, trying to see whether she could spot Laura hanging around waiting for her.
Lucy stopped entirely. There were not that many people on the street, but there was a man in an earth-brown trench coat standing close to the shop, hands in his pockets, trying to look inconspicuous and failing miserably. His attire and craggy features reminded Lucy of a Bogart film she had seen recently, and she somehow knew the man worked for the police. Maybe Laura wasn’t as crazy as she had thought.
Suddenly Lucy felt someone standing directly behind her. She turned to find herself confronted by a short woman of Chinese appearance. “Lucy Drucker?” the woman asked, flashing a badge. “Detective Lin. I’d like to have a word with you.”
