by Amy Cross
Not this time.
This time, an eagle-eyed manager had spotted her.
Followed her.
Stopped her as soon as she got outside.
“M'am,” he'd told her, “I need you to come back into the shop with me for a moment.”
“Why?” she'd stammered, even though she'd known at that moment that it was all over. She'd looked up at the security camera and realized that there was nowhere to run.
Everything since then had been a blur.
Uniformed officers had shown up. She'd tried to explain the whole thing away as a mistake, but she'd seen in the eyes of everyone in the store that they weren't buying the story. Hell, she remembered years ago, when she was working uniform, that she'd attended a few shoplifting cases. They'd always seemed the most pathetic situations, and she'd usually found herself feeling sorry for the poor wretch who'd been caught. Now she was that wretch.
The worst part was, she'd brought it on herself. She'd dared the world one time too many, always fooling herself into thinking she wouldn't do it again, always giving in to temptation, and finally she'd lost.
“Too bad,” she heard her own voice whispering in the back of her head, “that you're not as smart as you thought you were. Not by a million miles.”
Suddenly hearing footsteps getting closer, she looked up and saw that the two uniformed officers were carrying her bag to the car, while the manager glanced at her one final time with contempt before heading back into the shop. With her wrists locked in handcuffs, Laura reached up and used the edge of one hand to wipe her eyes, although she knew they'd be able to see she was crying.
The car doors opened. One in the front, one in the back, and an officer entered via each. One of the officers, the one holding her bag, sat next to her, keeping the door open.
Odd, she thought.
Standard procedure was to always close the door.
“This is awkward,” the officer said. “Are you alright there, Guv?”
“Let's just get it over with,” she whispered, as her voice hovered on the verge of a sobbing breakdown.
He paused for a moment. “We spoke to the manager of the shop at length,” he said finally, “and given the circumstances...” Another pause, before he passed the bag back to her, with the bottle of whiskey nowhere to be seen. “We were able to persuade him, given your position, that this had all been a terrible mix-up. They have a policy of always prosecuting shoplifters, so it took a while to talk him round, but the guy's a big supporter of the work we do so he was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. This time.”
She stared down at the bag, barely able to process what he was saying, before turning to him. “What... What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he continued with a sigh, as he took a key from his pocket and unlocked the handcuffs, “we got you out of this one.”
“But I...” Shocked, she watched as he took the handcuffs away. “I mean, he said... He said they always prosecute. There's even a sign on the door.”
“He made an exception,” the officer explained, “once we told him that you're a cop, and once we explained that you've been under a lot of pressure lately, and once we told him that there was no way you'd ever actually try to steal anything. That, you know, this was just a big mistake, like you claimed. You had a brain fart and put the bottle in your bag, instead of the basket, and then you forgot about it at the checkout.”
Laura opened her mouth to reply, but no words came out. She was shocked, having never even considered the possibility that these two uniformed officers – who she barely remembered seeing around the station before – would get her out of trouble. She knew she should feel relieved, but for some reason she actually felt mildly disappointed.
It wasn't over.
Back to normal.
“It was just a mistake, wasn't it?” the officer continued, even though it was clear from the look in his eyes that he knew what had really happened. “You just had a mental slip and accidentally but that bottle of whiskey in your bag, right?” He waited for a reply. “Guv? 'Cause if you actually admit to trying to steal, I'd have to go back in there, tell the manager what you'd said, and he'd most likely push for a prosecution.”
Taking a deep breath, with tears in her eyes, Laura realized that faced a choice. She could continue to lie, maintaining the pretense that she hadn't meant to steal the bottle, and everything would go back to normal. Alternatively, she could just admit the truth, face the consequences, most likely lose her job, and face the abyss of an uncertain future. The latter option seemed enticing for a moment, as if it would allow her to start again, maybe become someone else, maybe lose the shackles of a career that was faltering anyway. Deep down, however, she knew she wasn't that brave.
“It was an accident,” she said finally, sniffing back more tears. “I swear. I don't even know how I did it, but somehow I must have put the bottle into my bag and then forgotten about it when I reached the checkout. You must think I'm a complete idiot.”
“Huh.” The officer stared at her for a moment, and it was abundantly clear that he knew she was lying. “Well then,” he added finally, forcing a smile, “looks like we're all done here. You want a ride back to the station, Guv, or have you got your car parked around here somewhere?”
“Oh, I -” Pausing, she realized for a moment that she actually couldn't remember how she'd ended up at the store on a wet Tuesday night. After a few seconds, however, it all came back to her. “No, I came by foot. If you could give me a lift back to the station, that'd be good. I still have a lot to do.”
“This late?”
She nodded. “This late.”
Getting out of the back seat and slamming the door shut, the officer headed around to the driver's door.
Leaning back, Laura realized her heart was still pounding. She'd always wondered what it would be like to get caught, how it would feel when eventually, inevitably, a hand touched her shoulder and she was asked to go back into a shop. She hadn't expected to start crying so easily, to turn into a sobbing mess, but as the car edged away from the side of the road and turned a corner, heading back to the police station, she realized that she should have known she'd cry. She'd always been a crier, even as a child. That, at least, had never left her.
“We've got to make a brief detour,” the driver told her after a moment. “Disturbance on Albany Road. Shouldn't take a moment.”
“Sure,” Laura replied, wiping her eyes some more as she tried to smile. “Absolutely.”
***
“Don't touch me!” Ophelia screamed, as the two officers carried her kicking-and-screaming over to the car where Laura, shocked and barely able to understand what the hell was happening, waited by an open door. “I have rights!” Ophelia shouted. “I don't know what they are, but I definitely have them!”
“Get her in,” the first officer muttered as he and his colleague tried to slide Ophelia onto the police car's backseat, a job that was made infinitely more difficult by the fact that the girl was fighting back with the force of a dog trying to avoid a bath. Sticking her feet on the edge of the car, she pushed back, determined at all costs to keep out of the vehicle.
“Hang on,” Laura said finally, stepping closer. “Guys, can you put her down for a moment?”
“She's resisting arrest,” the second officer pointed out. “In a violent manner.”
“I know, but just put her down. Trust me.”
She watched as Ophelia adjusted her left foot and pushed harder against the frame of the car. The effect was almost comical, like something from a cartoon.
Sighing, the first officer let go of Ophelia's waist and stood back, while the second officer waited a moment longer before lowering her down onto the floor. All arms and legs for a moment, Ophelia scrambled on the ground before pulling herself up. Her hair was a mess and she was covered in badly-applied camouflage paint, all over her face, but she smiled as soon as she saw Laura.
“Hey,” she said, a little breathlessly. “What are yo
u doing here?”
“Hey,” Laura replied dourly. “I'm saving your butt.”
They stood in silence for a moment, with the officers watching from a couple of meters away.
“Well?” Laura continued.
“Well?” Ophelia said. “How are things?”
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Surveillance.”
“Surveillance?”
“I was undercover,” Ophelia replied, glancing at the officers. “I told you this morning that I was going to be out conducting some discreet inquiries today, and that's exactly what I was up to. Until some jackass spotted me out of his bathroom window and called these guys. Seriously, some people are just so nosy, like they think they can constantly go snooping around in other people's business.” She turned and scowled at an elderly man watching from the next house along.
“You were undercover?”
Ophelia turned to her and nodded.
“Like this?”
“I was trying to be subtle.”
“We've talked about this before,” Laura replied. “You have some very admirable attributes, Ophelia, but subtlety is not one of them.”
“I was trying to blend in with the environment.”
“By smearing something brown all over your face? What is that stuff, anyway?”
“Brown shoe polish.”
“Let me guess,” Laura continued. “It's my brown shoe polish, isn't it? You took it from the box under my bed.”
Ophelia nodded. “I also confirmed my suspicions about why you buy so many batteries.”
“Guv,” one of the officers said, “we should really get her down to the station and book her. We're both off-shift in an hour.”
“Can we -” Pausing, Laura realized that although she'd already pushed her luck, she needed to push it a little further. “I know it's not exactly the proper way to do these things,” she continued, “but would you mind if I take over this arrest? I'll talk to the homeowner and then, if necessary, I'll walk the suspect to the station. It's not far.”
The officers glanced at one another, before getting back into the car.
“You're very lucky,” Laura said, grabbing Ophelia by the wrist and pulling her back across the pavement. “If I hadn't happened to be in the car that came to pick you up, you'd have ended up back at the station, getting booked and probably charged! There are only so many times I can get you out of trouble, you know!”
“Why were you in the car?” Ophelia asked.
She paused. “That doesn't matter.”
“Have you been crying?”
“No!”
“You didn't get caught shoplifting or something like that, did you?”
“I -” Pausing, Laura tried to think of an answer, but after just a couple of seconds she realized that the truth was written all over her face. “Ophelia, what were you doing covered in shoe polish, crawling through the garden of number fifteen, Albany Road? Stop trying to avoid the question and be honest with me.”
“I told you, I was spying. So what did you get caught stealing?”
“Spying on who?”
“The house with a garden that backs onto the garden of number fifteen. Was it whiskey again? Why do you keep nicking whiskey? You don't even like the stuff, you've got a cupboard full of stolen bottles at home and not one of them has been opened. If you're going to nick stuff, at least nick stuff you like.”
“Ophelia, I thought you said you were going to discretely look into Daniel Gregory's movements?”
“That's what I'm doing.”
“No,” she replied, “not dressed like that, you're not, and definitely not while going into people's gardens.”
“Yeah, but -”
“This isn't a joke,” Laura hissed. “The Daniel Gregory situation is extremely sensitive for me! If he even suspects that I'm watching his movements, he'll lodge an official complaint, or he'll go to the papers, or he'll just generally make my life hell! All the fuss from last time has barely died down.”
“But you're not watching his movements. I am.”
“Everyone knows what that means.”
“What does it mean?”
“You're...” Sighing again, Laura closed her eyes and waited for her mind to clear. “Serenity now,” she whispered. “Madness later.”
“We know Daniel Gregory's address,” Ophelia continued, “but what we didn't know, until yesterday, is that he's also been renting a room at a house around the corner from here, barely a hundred yards away. Just a room, and he pays with cash, and as far as I can tell he doesn't get any mail delivered there. He's working damn hard to make sure that there's no paper-trail to link him with that place, which means he doesn't want anyone to know about it, which means he's up to something. Why else do you think he'd go to all that trouble?”
Opening her eyes, Laura realized that Ophelia might just be onto something.
“He provoked us,” Ophelia added.
“How did he provoke us?”
“By coming to the hospital that time when I was sick. He's obviously been watching you, Laura.”
“Which means we have to be even more careful.”
“Aren't you scared?”
“Scared? No, I -”
“Why the hell are you not scared?” Ophelia asked. “Daniel Gregory is a murderer, and we both know it. Just because the case against him got botched -”
“I'm the one who botched it.”
“He's a dangerous man,” Ophelia continued. “The fact that he seems to be still interested in you, more than a year after the case collapsed, should be setting off all sorts of alarm bells in your head. He could be planning something, he could be after revenge, he could be up to anything and you won't know, not until he strikes. What if he tries to -”
“Ophelia -”
“What if he kills you?”
At this, Laura paused for a moment.
“What if that's his plan?” Ophelia asked. “I'm not even being melodramatic right now. He's not doing any of this stuff for fun. He blatantly has an agenda.”
“And you think you can help by acting like a fool?” Laura replied. “If he's really as smart as we think he is, he must know what you're up to. He must have spotted you subtly monitoring his activities, I mean... Let's face it, Ophelia, you've always been a little over-the-top, but you're really excelling yourself this time. If I didn't know better, I'd start to think that you -” Pausing, she stared at Ophelia for a moment before taking a step back, getting a better look at the girl's makeshift surveillance costume. “You wanted to get caught,” she said finally.
“That's preposterous.”
“I know you, and I know how you operate. You're not this stupid. Why did you want to get caught in that man's garden?”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Oh, I think I do,” Laura continued. “If you really wanted to keep from getting noticed, I actually think you could pull if off. So this was all about show, wasn't it? You're putting on a performance, acting like the whacky Ophelia you pretend to be sometimes, and it's all for his benefit. What's the plan?”
“Don't know what you're talking about. Why did you want to get caught nicking a bottle of whiskey?”
“Ophelia -”
“Because if we're talking about people wanting to get caught,” Ophelia continued, “then maybe we should be talking about you. Subconsciously, at least. It's one of the things that makes your addiction so difficult to shake.”
“You're not going to give me a straight answer, are you?”
“Neither are you.”
“But -”
“Stalemate.” Pausing for a moment, Ophelia finally allowed herself a faint smile. “My plan's working pretty well so far. What about you? Can you say the same?”
Checking her watch, Laura saw that it was almost 1pm. “I actually have things to do this afternoon,” she muttered.
“Me too.”
“Like what?”
“That's a secret.”
“Ophelia -”
“Trust me,” she replied, stepping forward and putting her hands on Laura's shoulders. “Do you think I wanted to get caught just now, going through that man's garden? Well, maybe you're right. And if you are, don't you think you should trust me when I say that I'm in the middle of something that is going to work, if I'm just left alone?” She paused for a moment, with a hint of seriousness in her eyes, as if she'd changed gears slightly. “When have I ever let you down?”
“Well, there was -”
“And more importantly, do you know where Daniel Gregory is right now?”
“Right now? No, of course I -”
“I do.”
“You do?”
She nodded.
“Where is he?”
“Not very far from here. I also know what he's planning.”
“What's he planning?”
At this, Ophelia paused again. “He's planning to get you, Laura.”
“Ophelia -”
“I mean really, seriously get you. Revenge. You messed up the case against him, but walking away free isn't enough. He wants to make you pay for the fact that you even got him into a courtroom at all, and he's working slowly, and he's working subtly, but he is planning to come after you. And if I can make a few disturbances and throw him off-track, and slow him down while I try to work out exactly what he's up to, then maybe that's a really good strategy. 'Cause otherwise, if he thinks the coast is clear and if he thinks no-one is watching him, he might decide to strike. I'm doing this for you. I'm keeping him on his toes, so he doesn't get into his comfort zone.”
“Are you sure you're not being melodramatic now?”
“See you at home,” Ophelia replied, taking a step back. “Sorry about the prints on your shoulders, by the way. I forgot I had shoe-polish on my hands.”
Looking at the shoulders of her coat, Laura saw that each side now had a smudged hand-print.
“You can't keep doing this, you know,” she called out, as Ophelia turned to walk away.
