Still Waters

by Judith Cutler

  She smiled her thanks. ‘You can’t just send lads underwater into potentially dangerous situations without regular training updates, I suppose. And those take them away from their everyday duties. But they’re all so keen – and it seems a wicked waste not to use the expertise they’ve built up over the years.’

  ‘What does your old man say?’ He put his feet on the desk, but the effort made him cough painfully, and he took them down again.

  ‘I haven’t discussed it with him yet,’ she admitted. ‘I wanted to see that the consensus at our level might be.’

  ‘And what do the others feel?’

  ‘Some of the old-stagers like me don’t like change at any price, do they? Do you know, there are still some who won’t read their emails? Or if they do, they don’t respond to them.’ And she wouldn’t want to rank alongside them. ‘And there are things we desperately need – mobile labs, for instance, and those natty little instant fingerprint machines. Oh, and I thought of equipping community officers with those miniature cameras you can attach to their helmets, so they can photograph antisocial behaviour as it happens. Plus we really ought to do something for the rural parts of our patch. There’s no getting away from the fact that our response times are decidedly poor once you get out of built-up areas.’

  ‘Sounds to me as if you’re talking the Underwater lads way down your budget,’ Henson said, coughing till tears ran down his face. ‘Hell, Fran, I’ve never been like this in my life,’ he gasped at last. ‘I had myself down as fit and healthy. Now I’m hacking and hawking like some old geezer in a spit-and-sawdust pub.’

  She frowned sympathetically. ‘What’s your GP say?’

  ‘You know doctors – says I need another week off, maybe more. But I told him, we’ve got criminals to catch.’

  ‘Quite right. But the thing is, Dave, if you don’t take a little time off now, how much are you going to need when you have to admit he’s right?’

  ‘Six months ago I’d have said you just wanted to get me out of the building.’ Even now he sounded suspicious that she still might.

  ‘Six months ago you might have been right, Dave. Water under the bridge, eh?’ They exchanged a wary grin. She stood. ‘Anyway, thanks for letting me bend your ear. I don’t know that it’s sorted everything out for me, but it’s saved me making a fool of myself in front of Gates.’

  ‘Rule number one: never make a fool of yourself in front of management. Even if you’re married to the ACC (Crime).’

  ‘I shall remember that.’ When they were married, that is. If they ever were. Her phone beeped. A text message from Pete Webb about Minton’s computer, ending ‘CU here, 2ish?’ Yes! ‘I’ve got to go, Dave. But remember what I said. And remember there aren’t too many headstones saying, “I wish I’d spent more time at work”.’

  They exchanged an ironic smile, and she left.

  ‘Ah, the unholy alliance,’ Gates observed, as she closed the door behind her.

  Drat him for making her jump. ‘Morning, sir.’ She had nearly called him Simon.

  He flicked a glance at an expensive watch. ‘I think you’ll find it’s afternoon.’

  ‘But before lunch,’ she countered, as if indulging in light chat, not scrabbling for a conversational foothold. The only thing she really wanted to ask him was about his intentions towards and feelings for Caffy, but even in her most blunderbuss moments she would have dismissed that as inappropriate.

  ‘Still in cahoots with Henson, I see?’

  She pulled herself to attention – or the nearest she got to it for anyone except the chief. ‘Still consulting a colleague about a matter of mutual importance, sir.’

  ‘Which might be?’

  She balled her fists and took a deep breath. She said evenly, ‘It might be about all sorts of things, but included, in fact, emergency response times in rural areas.’

  ‘Of course it did.’ Sarcasm dripped from his voice.

  ‘Of course it did. Didn’t you hear DCS Harman tell you it fucking did?’ Henson erupted from his office, veins bulging.

  ‘How dare you!’ Gates exploded.

  ‘I’m not standing by when a colleague’s honesty is being fucking called into question.’

  She put a firm hand on his arm. ‘Leave it, Dave, for God’s sake.’

  ‘No, the bastard’s got it coming—’ Was he really going to hit Gates?

  ‘Dave!’ She pulled him away. He was gasping alarmingly, clawing the air for breath. ‘Dave! Here, lean on me.’

  Henson’s knees buckled. He clutched his chest.

  Fran turned to Gates. ‘Call a bloody ambulance, for God’s sake.’

  Henson made a huge effort. ‘I’m all right.’

  ‘Oh, fuck off and have another heart attack,’ Gates hissed.

  ‘Pneumonia, sir. Not his heart this time, they say,’ Fran, very much to attention as she stood before his desk, told the chief.

  ‘Brawling like children, Fran! Whatever were you thinking of?’ His voice was icy.

  ‘I believe that you may have been misinformed, sir. No brawling took place. I believe that Mr Henson may have taken exception to something Mr Gates was saying. He came out of his office too quickly and started to choke. While we waited for an ambulance, the first-aiders took over. He had some oxygen, and was fully conscious when he was taken to hospital.’

  ‘And why should Henson have taken exception to anything? How would he have heard?’

  ‘That’s something you’ll have to ask him when he’s well enough to return, sir.’

  ‘Stop messing me around, Harman. Had you and Henson had another of your rows? Is that it?’

  ‘Dave and I have more or less apologised to each other for the ill-will that originally arose between us, sir. We were quite literally talking about budgets. As a matter of fact he talked me out of adopting a quixotic stance about an item likely to be cut.’

  ‘So how did the deputy chief constable get involved?’

  ‘As I told you, he and I ran into each other just outside DCS Henson’s office.’

  The chief waved her to a chair. ‘Fran, Fran, what’s going on? And don’t for a moment imagine that you’re grassing anyone up.’

  ‘Exactly what I just said, sir. I’d finished picking Henson’s brains, took a text from Folkestone CID – I think there’s been a significant development in the Roper and Barnes case, by the way – and left his office. I bumped into DCC Gates, who demanded to know what we’d been talking about. When he seemed to…disbelieve…me, before I knew it, Dave Henson erupted from his office – perhaps he’d been coming out anyway; I don’t know – and started yelling.’

  ‘At Simon?’

  ‘And Simon responded.’

  ‘Actual words?’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll tell you himself, sir. Then Dave collapsed, and Simon called an ambulance.’ Bemused, she held up her still-shaking hands. ‘It was all a bit stressful, come to think of it.’

  ‘Intimations of mortality, eh? Come on, Fran, what were you two old reprobates really talking about?’

  Since he poured her a glass of whisky, she could scarcely refuse to answer. But she left the tumbler on his desk, untouched. ‘Budgets, sir. Truthfully. How they wouldn’t run to everything. How a pet project of mine looks likely for the chop.’

  ‘Which would be—?’

  ‘The Underwater Search and Recovery team, sir.’

  ‘And why would you be trying to defend them?’

  ‘Because the members are afraid of losing their jobs altogether. And they’re a really excellent team.’

  ‘I know. But they’ll all be excellent in their usual roles if the unit has to be disbanded – which I emphatically don’t want.’

  ‘Could you make sure their leader knows? A Sergeant Mills, I think.’

  ‘I’ll make sure the information filters down. And I’ll break the news myself it if turns out to be bad. OK?’ His smile was very dry. How many chief constables would tolerate such badgering, it asked. ‘Come on, Fran. Drink up.’
r />   ‘Sorry, sir. I can’t. I’ve got to be on the road in ten minutes, with your permission, that is. Folkestone.’

  ‘Of course.’ He removed the glass. ‘Carry on from where I interrupted.’

  She nodded. ‘At some point while I was talking to Dave, I realised there are things we need even more than the USRT. And much as I want to keep them operational, I can see reasons why they may have to be disbanded.’

  ‘Are you quite sure you don’t want that whisky? Because I have to tell you, Fran, you don’t sound at all yourself. Now, you’ve been very loyal, and I appreciate that, but what I can’t get my head round, as the young will insist on saying these days, is why Simon should want to cross-question you about a private conversation.’

  ‘That’s something you’ll have to ask him, sir. In fact—’ Cursing herself, she bit back what she was going to say. Now was emphatically not the time to introduce the subject of Caffy and the possible stalking.

  ‘Go on.’

  She got to her feet, shaking her head. ‘The mutual…ill-feeling… has put me in what may be a very awkward position, sir. With your permission, though, I’d rather say nothing until the situation actually presents itself. With luck, it may not.’

  She was aware of his scrutiny. She let neither her eyes nor her head drop.

  ‘I know that look of yours, Fran. Mulish doesn’t begin to describe it, does it? Very well, I’ll let you go now. But nothing – not misplaced loyalty, nor resentment, nothing – will stop you doing your job properly. Do you understand?’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘Because if it does, I shall have to recommend that one of you is transferred – or retired. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Eminently, sir.’

  Since having a full-scale tantrum about the unfairness of life was off the menu, she made what she hoped was a dignified exit – though it might have appeared to him as merely stiff-necked. She’d better tell Pat where she was going, and phone Mark to let him know, in the most general terms, of the latest developments.

  Pat made a sideways gesture with her head. Someone was waiting in her office.

  Mark.

  She couldn’t read his expression. But he held open his arms and she stepped straight into them. ‘I promise you it wasn’t my fault. Henson heard Gates ripping into me and rode to the rescue. He wasn’t well – in fact, I’d told him only five minutes before he should take himself off home,’ she added.

  He snorted.

  ‘Come on, Mark – six months ago I’d have told him to take himself off and stay there. What I said this time was that if he didn’t look after himself he’d have to take even more sick leave. The quarrel was between him and Gates. Do they have history too?’

  ‘I believe words have been exchanged, involving the reduced hours Henson’s working, and his recent sick leave. But I don’t think anything would justify Gates’ telling a man who’s just had a triple bypass to go and have another heart attack.’

  ‘I never told the chief that.’

  ‘I know. But walls have a great many ears in a place like this.’

  ‘Simon’s wheels are coming off, Mark. What are we going to do?’

  ‘You, absolutely nothing. Me, very little. Cosmo and the chief, a lot, I hope. You looked as if you were in mid-flight – do you have time for a bite?’

  She looked at her watch. ‘Barely. And I’d better phone Pete Webb to tell him I shall be late. He might be relieved – it’ll give him time for a break himself.’

  ‘True. And the public lunch is policy, Fran. I don’t want any gossip about people being made to retire.’ As she called Pete on her mobile, he ushered her out, patting her bottom as they went.

  Fran was halfway down the M20 when a call came through for her. Even though she had a hands-free set-up, she usually preferred not to use her mobile when driving. But when she saw the caller was Coveney, she broke her rule.

  ‘Nil returns on Dale Drury, I’m afraid, guv. The French police are talking to him today, and the news on the street is that he’s now clammed up, big time.’

  Why did he never use plain English? ‘Thanks for letting me know, Dan.’

  ‘And just for your information the Froggies seem to think he was busy killing a couple of their toms when you hoped he’d been killing Janine.’

  ‘It was more whether he recognised Janine as a prostitute than actually killing her,’ she pointed out. ‘But what about your debriefing, Dan? Did the pub and club crawl throw up anything useful?’

  ‘Nil returns there, too, guv. But I told them we’d do the same tonight, tomorrow and Saturday – OK?’

  ‘Please. And talk to lobby staff in hotels used by businessmen.’

  ‘It’s a very long shot, guv, given how long ago it was.’

  ‘Just to humour me, Dan. And now I’ve got another call waiting. Sorry!’ she lied.

  No wonder young Iona Harris didn’t have time for him. And what results had Harris come up with? No. Absolutely not. She would not make a call while driving at seventy in the outside lane.

  Pete Webb greeted her as if she were a guest at a party, hurrying her upstairs to the CID corridor.

  At last, as he took her jacket and hung it up for her, he said with a huge grin, ‘I know I could have emailed everything, guv, but knowing you I thought you’d like to see it for yourself.’

  And being in Folkestone had the merit of making her unavailable in Maidstone, should the chief want to question her further.

  ‘I would indeed. Thanks, Pete. I take it that Minton had deleted everything but not actually wiped the hard disk.’

  ‘You do indeed. But you did need a password to get onto the system, and the lad who found it didn’t have the skills to hack in. It didn’t pose too many problems to our people, though.’

  ‘Good. Now, what have we got? Pornography? “Adult” chat rooms?’

  ‘Plenty of both. And some photos, guv. Cup of tea before you look?’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind one while I look, if you don’t mind.’ She fished in her bag, and then her pocket. ‘Damn, I’ve forgotten my reading-glasses. You know, if God had meant us to grow older, he’d have given us longer arms. I’d better nip out to Boots or somewhere and buy another pair.’

  He coughed with embarrassment. ‘I bet we could find a pair in Lost Property, guv.’

  ‘Reading-glasses? What I really need for these images is sunglasses! My God, they don’t leave much to the imagination, do they?’ She gestured with her mug of tea. ‘I hope poor Roper doesn’t have to see all these. They wouldn’t half shatter his image of his wife. I wonder how many men perv away from the far side of a camera, pretending they’re taking artistic nude studies.’

  ‘These would be more what they call glamour shots, though, guv.’

  ‘Glamour! They’re bloody pornographic. Which makes me wonder,’ she continued, peering over her borrowed spectacles, ‘how many other nasty little snappers got a view of what only a midwife should see.’

  ‘You don’t want it to be Minton who killed her, do you, guv?’

  ‘I don’t want us to assume he killed her. Because if we do, and close the case, him being unable to answer our questions, as it were, then we’ll be letting the real killer walk free. Now, I wonder how long it will be before young Iona Harris’s tests come through.’

  ‘Piece-of-string, time isn’t it?’

  ‘I’d like to say another couple of days won’t matter because Minton won’t be going anywhere. But it’s Roper and Barnes whom I’m worried about. It’s a pity we can’t just phone up the prison governors and tell them to let them out till further notice.’

  ‘What shall we do about chasing other photographers?’

  ‘Until we find her address book we’re stalled, aren’t we? Unless it’s worth tracing other users of those chat rooms and adult porn sites. Tell you what,’ she said, almost thinking out loud as she leant back and stretched, ‘there’s no point in reinventing highly expensive wheels. Pass everything on to a specialised unit – when we’ve
got as far as we can, that is – and see what they can make of it. Maybe a lot, maybe absolute zero.’

  ‘Right.’ He made a note. ‘What else do we need to make a case?’

  She stood and found a working white board marker. ‘A hell of a lot. All we know is that he had a lot of pictures of her on his computer, filed, appropriately enough, in My Pictures. We don’t have the camera, of course – can we assume that if it was digital it was small and if it was small he could smash it up and dump it in that skip?’

  ‘Or even the sea.’

  ‘Quite. We know Janine had sex before she died – we’re just awaiting further DNA tests on the semen and on those clothes found in his locker. If we’ve got a match, it looks very good.’

  ‘Big if,’ he sighed.

  ‘Don’t lose heart yet. We’ve got even bigger ifs to worry about.’

  ‘Such as why he should kill her. How he got access to the reservoir – both through the gates and into the reservoir itself. At least we’ve got a suspect big enough to have lifted her.’

  Fran rubbed her face. How could she have forgotten? ‘Didn’t he work for a water company once?’

  ‘Of course he did! Bloody hell, how could I have forgotten that?’

  ‘It may have something to do with all those piles of files on your desk,’ Fran suggested quietly.

  But he was full of energy now. ‘Are those big key thingies standard issue? It’d be very nice if they were.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it just?’

  His face alight, he already had his hand on his phone and was asking someone to check. ‘And chase that facial reconstruction geek as well,’ he added. ‘I want Minton’s face on my desk by six tonight – latest.’ He cut the call and turned to Fran. ‘The bad news is that none of the residents at his block of flats admits to knowing that he ever had visitors back to the flat. There’s a great cult of keeping oneself respectably to oneself.’

  ‘No concomitant nosy-parkering?’

  ‘They say he was a perfect neighbour.’

  ‘Just like the Ropers. We don’t know if they ever saw Janine dolled up, by the way. What have I said?’

  He was choking back silly giggles. ‘It’s been at the back of my mind ever since you mentioned Ken. I wanted to call her Barbie!’