The Last First Time

by Andrea Bramhall

  “Oh, thanks, but I usually don’t eat late.”

  Gina frowned. “But it’s not even six yet? What time do you eat?”

  “Well, before eight, if I can.”

  “Well, this will be ready by half six, plenty of time.”

  “Half six? But how do you roast a chicken in less than an hour?”

  Gina laughed, head thrown back in abandon. “I buy it ready roasted.” She fished in a bag and pulled out the whole cooked chicken as Alison strolled through the doors, shopping bags hanging on her arm.

  Kate pulled more cups from the cupboard. Looked like it had been a positive day for Alison and Gina. “Did you buy the whole shop?” She waved the mug in her hand towards all the bags. “This can’t all be for one meal, surely.”

  “No, but since there’s a human dustbin living here now, we need items to fill it with, or it has a tendency to moan.” She pointed in Sammy’s direction.

  “Bloody hell. Sammy, you’re going on rations!”

  “What’s rations?”

  “Shush,” Gina told Kate, prodding her shoulder. “She’s teasing, Sammy. Go and get your homework. You can do your times tables with Grandma while Kate and Stella clean up their mess and I make tea.”

  “But…”

  Gina lifted an eyebrow.

  Sammy’s mouth clicked closed, her head dropped to her chest, and she climbed the stairs like she was climbing the gallows.

  Alison whistled. “Wish I’d known that trick with you.”

  “Glad you didn’t,” Gina said and began to unpack the shopping, securing places for things that Kate had never had in her cupboards before, like tins of kidney beans and soup, and packets of lentils. Kids need lentils? Frozen bags of French fries disappeared with vegetables into the large freezer she’d never put anything into besides pizzas and the occasional beer that needed chilling quickly.

  “You okay?” Gina bumped her on the shoulder.

  Kate looked up from the label of the peanut butter jar she was holding. “Oh yeah. But there’s something I need to talk to you about too. Can we, erm, go outside for a few minutes while Sammy’s with your mum? Would that be okay?”

  Concern coloured Gina’s face, but she nodded and followed Kate through the back door and down to the end of the small garden. She leant against the four-foot fence, looking out at the dark, empty sky. Lit from behind, it was hard to tell what Gina was thinking, but Kate could guess that she was worried and didn’t want to drag this out.

  “I had a phone call this morning. Someone asking for you, a guy, young-sounding, but over the phone, that can be deceptive. When I wouldn’t tell him where you were, he got quite nasty. Called me the usual string of names that come out of these kinds of things and told me that you were his.”

  Gina’s hands flew to her mouth, and her eyes widened. “Oh God.”

  “Has he been in touch before? Since the flowers, I mean.”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about later. I’ve got some stuff to show you and some to tell you. But I didn’t think… How does he know your number?”

  “More basic than that, Gina, how does he know that you’re here? Who have you told that you’re living here?”

  “Just my mum today, but she’s been with me the whole time. And you said it was a guy on the phone.”

  “It was. There wasn’t a distorted voice. Or, at least, not one I could detect. Tell me what’s happened.”

  Gina quickly told her all about the notecard that came with the flowers, about Mrs M’s roses, and the greetings card that had been delivered. Kate’s frown deepened with every word—as did her uneasiness. Whoever it was knew a lot about Gina. They had to. But more importantly, from what the card said, Gina also knew him. Kate considered everything she knew about stalkers and was surprised to find that it was shockingly little. That needed to change. One thing was abundantly clear, though. This guy wasn’t going anywhere. He was a part of Gina’s life, probably on the periphery of it. But he had some sort of relationship with her already. One that he considered much bigger in his head. And he saw Kate as a threat. While he wasn’t overtly threatening, the content of the card implied it. The real question was who was he threatening? Gina or Kate?

  “Kate?”

  She shook her head, jostling her thoughts back to Gina. “Sorry, miles away there.”

  “What were you thinking?”

  “That we need to talk about this a lot more and that I want to bring Stella in on it all too.”

  “Okay.”

  “I also need you to tell me, immediately, when you get something else delivered.”

  Gina swallowed. “You said ‘when’ not ‘if’.”

  Kate nodded. “I think it’s only a matter of time before he contacts you again.”

  “Why is he doing this? What does he want?”

  Kate wrapped her arms around Gina and pulled her in to a tight hug. “You.” She kissed the side of her head. “What he wants is you. Why he wants you—well, I can think of a couple of million reasons off the top of my head, but we don’t have time for all that. The top and bottom of it is that stalkers believe they already have a relationship with the object of their affections. It’s a delusion, but he believes you’re already his.”

  “He’s crazy.”

  “Not necessarily. I need to do some research and talk to a few people. Probably to Jodi. But I don’t think they’re all whack jobs.”

  Gina’s arms squeezed her waist. “Helpful.”

  “Do my best.”

  Gina shivered.

  “Come on, let’s get back inside. It’s too cold out here, and you’ve promised the locusts in there food.” She twitched her thumb over her shoulder, then led Gina back into the house. Before they crossed the threshold, Kate kissed her cheek and whispered, “We can talk more later.” Then she let Gina go.

  Stella looked at her questioningly.

  Kate started picking up the papers that Stella had already cleared into a neat pile, the top pages face down so that nothing was on show. “I think we should move this stuff to the spare room, Stells. Can you grab that pile for me?” She indicated the second pile and led Stella upstairs.

  “What’s going on?” Stella asked as soon as the door was closed behind them.

  Kate didn’t hesitate. Her explanation was brief and stuck to the facts. It was the only way Kate knew how to deal with things she didn’t like, with things that scared her—succinct, factual, and to the point.

  “Not a half-bad investigative job for a civilian,” Stella said. “Shame she can’t remember what the delivery guy looked like. I’d put money on it that it was him.”

  “Agreed.” It had occurred to Kate too. “Something tells me that this guy would want to see Gina’s face when she’d received his gift. One he clearly worked hard to obtain for her.”

  “Want me to do some digging around?”

  Kate nodded. “I’ll put together a list of males in her life.”

  “Kate, we both know that while this guy thinks he has a relationship with her, it could be someone who’s stayed on the campsite as a guest or something. Someone she served in the shop, even just one time.”

  “I know that’s possible, but that line about everything he does for her and how she acts like he doesn’t exist makes me think that there’s more of a connection, that it’s more personal than that. That she’s had more interaction than simply selling him tickets to a tourist attraction in the area.”

  “Good point, but I’m still not sure how that helps us. I mean, working where she does, with the public, there’s just so many possibilities. Regular customer, someone in the village, someone who worked there in the past. I mean she’s worked there for years, Kate.”

  “I know, and it’s just too many people.”

  “Has she noticed anyone hanging around lately?”

  “Not sure. We’ll have to ask her, but not in front of Sammy.”

  Stella nodded. “I’ll get those cards in to Len tomorrow and see if he can get any prin
ts off them. Probably not on the flowers card, but you never know.”

  Kate agreed. They both knew it was unlikely that they’d get prints, but it didn’t hurt to try, and if they didn’t, they had no chance whatsoever to get the easy answer.

  “With all the evidence they’re processing at the moment, though, this won’t be a priority.”

  “I know.” Kate sighed heavily. “It can’t be. Resources are tied up on far more important things right now.”

  “Doesn’t stop you feeling like this is the most important, does it?”

  Kate smirked at Stella’s telling question. “Nope.”

  Stella rubbed Kate’s bicep. “Don’t worry. We’ll find out who this prick is and find Ayeshydi…and Mallam. All at the same time.” She shimmied her shoulders and puffed out her chest a little. “Just let me dig out my superheroine knickers, and we’ll get right to it.”

  Kate chuckled. “Maybe we should have dinner first.”

  “Bitch.”

  Chapter 25

  Stella’s phone pinged with an incoming e-mail as Gina served them dishes of sherry trifle—thick whipped cream, set custard, and fruit jelly laced with heady booze.

  “Mmm,” Kate murmured in pleasure as the first splash of cream and alcohol hit her tongue.

  Stella frowned at her phone, looked up quickly at Kate, and then handed the phone over. “From my friend at the Driver and Vehicle Licensing Agency. Look, that’s Ishman Ayeshydi.”

  Kate stared at the image for a second. Then she squinted and looked closer, bending her head over the screen. “The DVLA gave you this? Seriously, that’s Ayeshydi?”

  Stella nodded.

  Kate frowned and looked again. She needed to be certain of what she was seeing. It was too incredible. Too ridiculous. Too…wrong. “No, that’s…but it’s—fuck!”

  “Kate!” Sammy yelled, eyes wide.

  “Sorry, kiddo, sorry.” Kate jumped to her feet, covered her hands over Sammy’s cheeks, and kissed her head. “Never, ever repeat that word.” She looked up at Gina. “Sorry.”

  Gina shook her head. “Don’t worry, I’ve heard her say it before now. Go—do what you’ve got to do.” Gina picked up her bowl. “I’ll keep this safe till you get back.”

  “Thanks.” Kate shrugged into her coat and slipped her feet into her shoes, not bothering with the laces. She kissed Gina’s cheek and whispered, “Don’t wait up for me. I might be a while.”

  Stella was out of the door behind her, car keys in hand. “I’ll drive, you try Timmons.”

  Kate nodded and did as she was told. His phone went straight to voicemail. “Shit. Let’s just hope he’s at the station.” She looked at the picture Stella had shared with her. “I knew there was something wrong with this shit, but Christ. How does an MI5 agent get replaced with a terrorist?”

  “What if he wasn’t replaced? What if he’s simply both individuals?” Stella shoved her phone into Kate’s hand. “Look at the second picture. That’s Zain Mallam’s driver’s licence.”

  “Nah, they do tons and tons of screening to get into MI5. Surely they’d know if he had an alter ego like this shithead.”

  “They also do tons and tons of training for operatives. And undercover work.”

  Bollocks. “Ishman Ayeshydi is his undercover identity?” Pieces began to slip into place like the tumblers in a lock, but still, it stuck. “If that’s true, then why did he let the lock-up explode and kill so many police officers? If he’s Ayeshydi, it was his lock-up and his bombs. Why let that happen?”

  “Maybe he didn’t.”

  “He was on his phone, and now he’s missing. We already agreed we don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “True, but all I’m saying is, MI5 have given us diddly, and we know they’re not above letting crimes go ahead if it helps them get closer to an objective they have further down the road. A few dead here in Lynn to stop a bigger attack later. Would MI5 let something like that happen to preserve an undercover agent in order to take down more criminals later? I believe they would.”

  Kate had to admire the logic…and the cold-blooded ruthlessness that would be required to make that call if it were true. A big if, as far as Kate was concerned. Too many twists and turns. Too many angles. People weren’t generally all that clever. And most often they weren’t half as clever as they thought they were. More often than not, cases were simple, and perpetrators were easily identifiable. Motives were easy to figure out and understand. Evidence was usually pretty easy to find, often the issue being an overabundance rather than a lack, and interpretation was the most difficult part of a case.

  Most rapes were perpetrated by someone the victim knew. Most murders were committed by the spouse. Most children were killed or hurt by a family member.

  Not always. But most of the time. So, most of the time, they played the percentages.

  The percentages in their scenario told them that acts of terror were carried out by Islamic extremists, end of story. They didn’t touch on potentially rogue MI5 agents or the girl’s father having a personal motivation for winding her up and setting her off—quite literally—in one direction. Stella could be right just as easily as she could be wrong. Or they could both be wrong, and there was even more going on than they could even begin to fathom.

  The station looked quieter than Kate had seen it since the bomb had gone off at Ann Summers. Only three-quarters full at seven o’clock in the evening. Plenty of parking spaces. She spotted Timmons’s car and pointed it out to Stella.

  She nodded and parked up.

  Kate’s boot heels cracked on the tile floor of the station as they hurried down corridor after corridor and up a flight of stairs. With her heart pounding with adrenaline, as well as the exertion of taking the stairs two at a time, Kate pushed open the squad room door. Timmons’s office was at the back end of the room, door firmly closed, blinds drawn.

  She and Stella were practically running across the room. Kate rapped her knuckles against the wood and pushed the door open. Porter and Green turned to look at them.

  Timmons stood, leaning on his desk, his face paler than before, which made his cheeks look even more ruddy than usual. He had one hand raised, his finger pointed and his mouth open like he was in midsentence…or maybe midword.

  “I thought I told you two I didn’t want to see you here!”

  “Yes, sir. But this can’t wait.” Stella slammed the door closed behind her. She glanced around, then crossed to his desk and grabbed a pad and a pen.

  Kate glanced over her shoulder before she opened her images and put the picture of Ayeshydi/Mallam on the desk. “This is Ishman Ayeshydi.” She flipped to next picture. “And Zain Mallam.”

  “Bollocks!” Timmons shouted.

  Porter and Clare rounded the desk to look at the picture.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive, sir. Uncontaminated source.”

  “Fuck.” He pinned Porter with a look. “What the fuck is going on here?”

  “I’m as shocked as—”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I’ve never worked with him before.”

  “Right. But when you asked for the information I requested, shouldn’t you have been sent an ID too?” Timmons leant closer to him. “Isn’t that a standard on an agent’s file these days?”

  Porter squirmed.

  They all took that as confirmation.

  “Did you know beforehand that he wasn’t who he was supposed to be?”

  “He is who he’s supposed to be.”

  “Explain.”

  “I can’t.”

  “I said explain,” Timmons snarled.

  “You don’t have clearance.”

  “I do!”

  Porter shook his head and chuckled. “No, sir, you really don’t.”

  Timmons tried again. “Every one of us signed the Official Secrets Act when we became police officers. As far as I’m concerned, everything on the job is top secret.”

  Porter stood up. “You don’t have clearance
.”

  Clare blocked the door so he couldn’t leave. “Ishman Ayeshydi is his undercover ID. Correct?”

  Porter stared at her in silence, his eyes burning holes through hers.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “Should’ve taken a bet on that,” Stella said under her breath.

  “An undercover operative?” Timmons asked incredulously. “In King’s Lynn? I hate to break it to you, but Lynn isn’t exactly a hotbed of dissidents and extremists.”

  Kate almost wanted to point out that that didn’t seem to be the case since they’d had two explosions in three days, but it wasn’t really the right time to butt in.

  Clare shook her head. “I’m guessing he didn’t start out here. Probably a major city. London?”

  “I’m not a suspect for you to interrogate.”

  “London. Okay, so he followed a cell here? I know there’ve been rumblings that a major attack was expected in London. It was brought up in one of the gold command meetings on Sunday. There were four targets mentioned: MI5 HQ, New Scotland Yard, Westminster, and Westminster Abbey. Is this what he was working on?”

  Porter didn’t answer, his hands clenched into fists, and Kate wondered just how much more Clare knew that they weren’t privy to. It seemed the higher ranks of gold command had suppressed a number of details that could have helped them in their investigation. Or even—heaven forbid—could have helped them to save lives. For fuck’s sake, when were they going to realise that they were all on the same side? That Kate and her colleagues were not the enemy, and treating them as such had only put more people at risk.

  “Just so you know,” Clare said, “every question you evade or refuse to answer screams an affirmative response. You do realise that, don’t you?”

  He said nothing.

  Clare smirked. “There was an intelligence report mentioned by gold command yesterday about training targets. They suggested that King’s Lynn was one such target. Is that why Mallam was posing as Ayeshydi here?”

  “You don’t have clearance.”