by Helen Fields
‘About the eye …’ he said.
‘No explanation necessary.’ She pushed the folder further in his direction.
‘It’s actually quite a funny story.’
‘It’s your private business and I think we should keep these conversations professional. Make sure the photo is printed in black and white rather than colour and that her proper title is included. The lecture will start at seven thirty. There’ll be drinks in the foyer afterwards. I’ll introduce her and attendees will have a ten-minute period to ask questions at the end.’
King took the folder from her hands.
‘I know the format,’ he said. She wasn’t going to ask about his eye. Just how traumatic an event had to occur before she expressed any concern?
‘Good,’ was her response. It was also a dismissal. He made his way to the door. ‘And this is a personal friend of mine, a very close friend, so please make sure everything runs smoothly. She’s very busy. There can’t be any delays or problems. Clear?’
King didn’t credit her rudeness with an answer, just let her door slam shut and bit his tongue.
Natasha Forge was made of ice. When he’d first heard her speak on the subject of whether or not philosophy should be taught as an individual discipline or if it was inherent within every subject, he thought he’d never be able to hear anyone else’s words again. A woman so different from his own mother, who had rarely left their house as far as he could tell, constantly cooking, pickling, tidying, writing lists and fussing, Natasha Forge was all clean lines, had professionalism stamped on every part of her, from her razor-sharp wit to her piercing eyes. Not for her a life of domesticity, child rearing or homemaking. King doubted she ever ate anywhere but restaurants, that she ever cleaned her own home or did her own laundry. Her life was lived for academia, seeking enlightenment of the mind. She was the reason he’d applied for the job in the department. At first she’d been welcoming, kind. Then, as they’d spent more time together, Natasha had grown colder. He’d heard some women were like that – their interest decreased relative to the amount of enthusiasm you showed for them. And yet Natasha’s intellectual gifts were undeniable.
After his failed application for the lecturing post, he’d collated all the philosophy papers he’d written and published them as a book. Self-publishing was acceptable these days, had almost become the norm. Increasing numbers of respected writers were doing it. It meant he’d been able to send the book to a university in America who’d given him his doctorate in recognition. That should have impressed her. But the rest of the staff hadn’t bothered to hide their amusement when he’d taken in his certificate and insisted his title be changed to ‘Doctor’ to reflect his new status. He’d heard them whispering. So what if it was an online university? The fee he’d paid was purely for administration purposes. He’d worked for his qualification, had earned it with hours spent reading, writing and editing. The name of the university who’d formalised his achievement was as irrelevant as the thickness of the paper they’d printed his certificate on. It was real and it was his.
With an impatient sigh he flipped open the folder Natasha had handed him. If he didn’t get on, he’d miss the printing deadline. He stared at the photograph of Natasha’s precious friend. Her curly hair made her face look childish. No wonder she’d demanded it be printed in black and white, no doubt to add some maturity to the image. Speaking on the subject ‘Society’s Moral and Legal Right to Punish Wrongdoers’ would be Detective Inspector Ava Turner.
Chapter Seventeen
‘It’s been twenty-four hours, sir, and I’ve received no further threat. This is just some wacko trying to get a reaction.’ Ava and Detective Chief Inspector Begbie were outside Callanach’s door. He was trying to pretend he wasn’t listening but failing, as were the other detectives who were gawping in the corridor.
‘DI Turner, that wacko managed to get into this building unnoticed and find your office. The threat was a very unpleasant one, as I’m sure you recall. Until we identify and arrest whoever is fantasising about killing you, the protective detail officer stays each day until you’re safely at home with your alarm on.’ The Chief was strident.
‘But I’m just meeting a friend for a drink in a pub. Nothing’s going to happen except for me feeling like a prize idiot with my not-very-well-disguised bodyguard escorting me.’ Ava wasn’t going to back down. Callanach glanced at the time. He was done for the day.
He stuck his head out into the corridor.
‘I’ll go with DI Turner, if that would assist.’
They both stared at him. Ava had a look of confused hopefulness on her face and the Chief simply looked sceptical. Callanach didn’t read too much into that. He suspected it was Begbie’s default expression.
‘That’s settled then,’ Ava said, pulling on her coat.
‘Just a minute. You don’t leave her side, Callanach, that’s an order. Until you’ve checked her home is clear and locked down, you’re responsible for my detective inspector’s safety. Interpol or not, you’d better not mess up.’
‘Got it, Chief,’ Callanach said, grabbing his keys from his desk.
‘Can I at least go to the ladies’ room on my own?’ Ava asked pointedly. Callanach took her arm and began walking her up the corridor.
‘What’s that saying you have? Quit while you’re ahead,’ he said. For once, Ava did.
Half an hour later they were in The Pear Tree, jostling for position at the bar.
‘Why is it so busy?’ Callanach moaned.
‘We’re near the University’s main campus,’ Ava explained, passing him a glass of red wine and pointing at a table where seats were just becoming free. They sat down, leaving coats on a third chair to secure it. ‘I appreciate you offering to come with me. I can’t stand being followed around as if I’m not capable of looking after myself.’
‘You understand that’s what I’m here to do? You may enjoy irritating the Chief but I’m not ready to fall out with him yet, so no running away.’ Ava rolled her eyes then grinned over his right shoulder.
‘Tasha! I’ve got you a gin and tonic already. Sit down. This is Luc Callanach, our newest recruit, fresh from Interpol, no less. Luc, this is a very old friend of mine, Natasha Forge, Head of Philosophy at the Uni.’
‘Pleased to meet you. How do you know one another?’ Callanach aimed the question at both women who began to speak at once.
‘Pony club,’ was the response from each at the same time, finished by howls of laughter. Callanach looked confused.
‘And this is funny because?’ he asked.
‘Hated it. Both of us. The result of pushy parents wanting to get rid of us at the weekends so they could play golf or shop or whatever. The first time I saw Tasha she was sneaking off round the back of the stables to have a cigarette. I recognised a kindred spirit and followed her,’ Ava said
‘We spent every weekend like that, putting on jodhpurs, riding hats and disappearing. I don’t think I sat on a horse the whole time. Bloody creatures. Whoever imagined they want humans sitting on their backs was seriously deluded. I got kicked once and never went near one again,’ Natasha finished.
‘Did your parents not notice?’ Callanach asked.
‘We got called into the riding school mistress’s office one day to explain ourselves. Ava promised we’d stay out of trouble if she told our parents we were doing fine. We got to see each other every weekend, our parents got rid of us and the riding school got outrageous amounts of money for nothing. When Ava got shipped off to boarding school and I was left here term time was dull but at least we got to spend holidays together. The summers seemed like they went on forever.’
Callanach watched them smiling at the memories and saw the carefree, rebellious girls they’d once been. A smashing glass made Ava whip round. She was jumpy, more nervous than she was admitting, and covered it up by bursting into conversation.
‘So, tomorrow night. I’ve got my lecture notes ready. How many people are you expecting? Is there a microp
hone? What should I wear – uniform or civvies?’
‘Wow. Have a drink,’ Natasha laughed. ‘It’s not that big a deal, not for you anyway. I’ve seen you on the news twice in the last fortnight. Wear whatever you like. Your main problem will be getting away at the end. I’ll have to sneak you out the back to avoid the endless questions.’
‘What’s this?’ Callanach asked.
‘I’m giving a guest lecture.’ Ava held her head loftily. ‘Very last minute, mind, to tell the truth. Who cancelled and made you so desperate you asked me?’
‘No one cancelled,’ Natasha said, shaking her head. ‘There may have been a slight oversight when our administrator was unwell but that doesn’t mean you weren’t my first choice!’
‘Who were the other choices then?’ Ava asked.
‘Some idiot tried to book Professionals Against Abortion, because that would have gone down well with our free thinking, well-educated, balanced students. Luckily you saved me and I’m eternally grateful.’
‘Professionals Against Abortion?’ Callanach asked.
‘A religious group pretending their views are professional rather than moral. They also run pregnancy advice centres where they scare teenage girls so badly they’re convinced they’ll become infertile or infected or die if they have terminations. The advisors don’t disclose their real agenda. They’re highly secretive and, as far as I’m concerned, completely poisonous,’ Natasha said. ‘Right, I’m braving it and pushing my way through to the bar. Same again?’
While Natasha fought the growing mass of bodies, Callanach drained his glass and looked at Ava. She was unusually quiet.
‘You okay?’
‘Mmm,’ was the response.
‘You know the Chief will want you escorted by a uniform again tomorrow night.’
‘Fine,’ she said, not really listening.
‘You need to tell Natasha about the threat. The University should have security on hand. If there’s a large crowd and you’re socialising afterwards, one officer may not be able to protect you.’
‘Are you after a promotion? Because you’re starting to sound an awful lot like Begbie.’
Natasha put drinks on the table.
‘What’s with the serious faces?’ she asked. Callanach decided to deal with it his own way. Ava was making it quite clear she wasn’t going to acknowledge the potential danger of the situation.
‘Ava received a death threat,’ he said. ‘Which is why I’m crashing the party tonight.’
‘Arising from your current case?’ Natasha asked.
‘Maybe,’ Ava said, ‘or maybe it’s one of any number of bored criminals with a hate-crush on me from the last ten years. Who knows? Nothing you need to worry about, Tasha.’
‘Why don’t you come and stay with me for a while?’ Natasha suggested.
‘Because you can’t stand my music taste and get ratty if I wake you up coming and going in the middle of the night. And because I love you and there’s no need for you to worry. We shouldn’t have said anything.’ The ‘we’ part of the sentence was pointed. He hadn’t given Ava a choice about it and she was mad.
‘Of course you should have told me,’ Natasha answered. ‘I’d feel better if you would stay.’
‘But I’d feel as if I’d let whoever did this win. You know me better than that. Listen, I’m going to have to cut the evening short,’ Ava said abruptly, grabbing her bag and thrusting her arms into her coat. ‘Sorry to be dull but I need to get home. Do you mind, Luc? See you tomorrow, Tash. I’ll try not to make a complete dog’s dinner of it.’
Natasha kissed her on each cheek. ‘You’ll be amazing. Good to meet you, Luc.’
Ava lived in a mid-terrace house on a quiet street west of the city. Callanach went back into police mode in a way that was hard to lose if you’d done it for enough years. He checked each room, switching on every light as he went, making sure the locks on the back door were fully engaged and that the downstairs windows were secure. Only then did he let Ava into the property and made her show him that the alarm was fully functioning.
‘You wanted to leave the pub very suddenly,’ he said, as he made sure he could hear a dialling tone on her landline.
‘Something Natasha said sent my mind back to the case. I need a good night’s sleep, and drinking with her never ends well. She liked you.’
‘How do you know?’ he asked.
‘If she hadn’t, you’d have known it. She doesn’t suffer fools. She always decides if a man can be trusted within two minutes, and to the best of my knowledge she’s usually right. More than I can say for her taste in women.’ Ava put the kettle on and threw her shoes towards the doormat.
‘Really?’ Callanach said.
‘Tasha’s a lesbian, although she doesn’t flaunt it. She’s always been obsessive about not letting anyone at the Uni know, doesn’t want to get labelled or stereotyped.’
‘I can understand that,’ he said. ‘Right, everything is secure. Call 999 then my mobile if there’s a problem.’ He listened as she locked the door and slid on the chain. For all her public bravado, she wasn’t taking any unnecessary risks.
Chapter Eighteen
Ava was in the briefing room when Callanach walked past, surrounded by her team and looking like a woman on a mission. Curious, he entered quietly and sat at the back.
‘The DNA match came through an hour ago. The surviving baby’s mother is Lucy Costello, living with her parents Mary and John at an address in Murrayfield. Please remember this is a vulnerable young woman who has recently given birth and who may be suffering post-natal depression. We’ll have a medical crew with us including a gynaecologist. No force is to be used unless anything unforeseen happens. The home is to be secured in order to find a link to the other babies. Please behave with respect and sensitivity.’
‘What did she come up on the system for, ma’am?’ one of the uniforms asked.
‘Supply of drugs, a year ago. It was a technical offence. She’d bought several ecstasy tablets at a rave and handed them out to her friends who’d pooled their money. There were undercover police involved. When they realised she was only fourteen years old, they opted to caution her but it was a serious enough crime that her DNA was held on the database. Let’s go.’
Callanach stopped her as she was leaving.
‘You got a break, then, at last. That was lucky.’
‘It was,’ Ava said. ‘Would you tag along if you’re quiet for an hour? It’d be a chance for my squad to get to know you a bit better.’
‘I will. I’m going crazy sitting around here with no leads. Shall I travel with you?’
‘Sure,’ she said.
Murrayfield was one of the more affluent parts of the city and Callanach could see the wealth through the investment in leisure facilities. Even if you ignored the rugby stadium, there was an ice rink, tennis courts, a golf course and a well-placed private hospital for when a player got injured. An unlikely setting to house a young woman with a history of drug abuse who had recently left her child to die.
The marked police vehicles were parked a street away to avoid causing panic. Only Ava, the doctor and a Range Rover carrying four plain clothes detectives parked in the Costellos’ road. As Ava knocked on their door, the sound of vacuuming could be heard through an open upstairs window. A couple of minutes later a flustered woman, presumably Mary Costello, answered.
Ava held up her badge and introduced herself.
‘We’re looking for Lucy Costello. Is she here?’
‘No. What’s this about? Is Lucy in trouble?’
‘We need to talk to her urgently. Could you tell me her last known whereabouts?’ Ava was firm but polite. Mrs Costello was twitchy.
‘My daughter’s at school. She had an exam this morning, I dropped her there myself. I think I have the right to know what it is you want.’
‘We believe your daughter recently gave birth to a baby boy who she left in a park. She may also have information about other offences.’
&n
bsp; ‘This is ridiculous,’ Mrs Costello stuttered but she was tearful and obviously shaken.
‘Would you accompany us to Lucy’s school, please?’
‘I have to phone my husband. He’ll meet us there,’ Mrs Costello said.
‘You can use my mobile on the way. We have to get going,’ Ava told her. Visibly trembling, Mrs Costello grabbed a coat and handbag on her way, and was texting on her own phone before Ava could hand her the promised mobile.
St Gabriella’s High School was ten minutes from the Costellos’ house and there was no choice but for the police vehicles to parade one after another through the main gates. Hordes of fascinated schoolgirls in blue pleated skirts and stiff blazers watched them stream past. Just as Ava was helping Mrs Costello out of the car, a grey Jaguar XJS streaked into a parking space next to them.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ the man stormed. Mrs Costello rushed to his side.
‘Darling, please calm down, they just need to speak to Lucy.’
‘They can speak to me first,’ he said, squaring up to the detective constable next to Ava. ‘Who’s in charge here?’
‘I am. Detective Inspector Turner. You must be John Costello. We need to speak with your daughter. You can remain with her but I have to ask you to calm down.’
‘Don’t tell me to calm down, miss. You’ve upset my wife, made all sorts of ridiculous allegations and invaded my daughter’s school. How am I supposed to explain this to the head teacher?’
A group of girls was running past in tennis whites, hair flying, a teacher shouting at them to keep moving, when a voice came from below Callanach’s shoulder level.
‘Daddy, Mummy, what’s going on?’
Lucy Costello was slim, really slim. That was Callanach’s first thought. More than that, she was sporty, bordering on athletic. She might have made a momentary mistake trying an ecstasy tablet but she was the picture of health – glowing skin, hair in a ponytail, clutching a tennis racket – as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
‘You must be Lucy,’ Ava said. ‘I’m a police officer. Could we have a chat, please?’
