Power on Her Own

by Judith Cutler

  ‘So much the better – people usually like to be in the right.’

  ‘Why, I was talking to him only half an hour ago. Yes, I said you were going to pop into college to, see him. I didn’t say what for, though, since you’d told me this was confidential.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll have to catch him when he comes back from the dentist.’

  There was the tiniest pause. It sounded as if the dentist had been a hastily invented excuse.

  ‘Oh, right. Of course. Anyway, you’ll be able to make him a cup of tea when he gets back, won’t you? Here’s the address.’

  They parked behind a crop of black plastic sacks awaiting the maw of the dustcart. They’d overtaken it a few hundred yards back: the sacks wouldn’t have to wait long.

  ‘He’s done remarkably well for himself,’ Colin observed, looking at the cottage behind the high wall. ‘This is practically the country. These teachers must get a good screw if he can afford to live here.’

  ‘I think that could be better rephrased,’ Kate said, smiling sourly. ‘But they’re not all that well-paid. We were talking about it once. So how come he lives in a posh little place like this?’

  ‘Lottery win?’

  She shrugged. ‘Colin – if he’s been on all these camps with the BB, he could have used his video camera and sold the results. He tried to film the kids the first time we trained. It was a nice evening and they were all stripped down to shorts.’

  ‘And you thought he wanted to do it for his holiday records. Kate, you were a bit slow, weren’t you?’

  She nodded. ‘Or maybe a bit fast now in jumping to conclusions. I don’t know. Let’s go and see if he’s recovered from his dental treatment. He’s back, all right. That’s his car.’

  The engine was still warm – just.

  They exchanged glances.

  ‘Colin – I’m going to do the talking, on my own. And you’re going to check those sacks aren’t full of files. Sorry.’

  ‘OK. Unless you’d prefer to do it the other way round, seeing as you know him.’

  She looked at the cottage, bland in its rather dull garden. There was a depressed air about it – flowers that should have been dead-headed, the grass over-long. To be fair, he’d been too busy painting her window to do much for himself.

  ‘When it comes down to it, who knows anyone?’ she asked. ‘OK. She flipped an invisible coin. ‘Look, it’s heads. I’ll do Paul.’

  She set off up the path.

  Paul answered her ring promptly. If he was surprised to see her he didn’t show it. She hoped Maz hadn’t phoned to warn him that he should officially have been at the dentist’s. She hadn’t wanted Maz involved at all – Paul had obviously been a cherished, perhaps spoiled, baby far too long.

  ‘Kate?’

  ‘Paul. Obviously I’m not here just to thank you for all your painting. It’s work, too. Shall we –?’ She gestured.

  He stepped back, but with some reluctance. Just puzzlement, perhaps. ‘Work?’ He stopped just inside the front door. There was no hall – they were in his living room.

  ‘My work. There’s some rumour about Brayfield BB – things going wrong ten to fifteen years ago. Nothing serious, so far as I know. But we need to have the files to check who was in charge then. Giles says you’ve probably got them.’

  ‘My God! Have I still got them? Oh, I was young and crazy once, Kate – had this idea of writing a history of the chapel. And then I realised that history’s more than listing facts in chronological order – that’s if you want anyone to read it! I suppose I must still have the files somewhere.’ He looked around the room doubtfully.

  So did Kate. However good he was with a shovel or a paintbrush, Paul was hardly house proud. There were newspapers in a couple of piles at least two feet high – months of dust-harbouring paper. They’d have toppled if anyone had added so much as another freebie. There were other piles, too – books, notes, letters. The bookshelves were crammed, with books stacked in all directions.

  ‘I suppose they might be in my study. Follow me.’ He led the way upstairs which opened off the corner of the room. ‘What sort of problem are we talking about? Someone been diddling the finances?’ he asked derisively.

  She’d been waiting for the question – was rather surprised it had come so late. ‘That sort of thing,’ she said, off-hand. ‘Probably nothing at all. But once my boss gets hold of something he’s not going to let it go without checking first.’ She stopped, trying not to gasp with horror. Paul had opened his study door to reveal the sort of chaos that she was living with – cardboard boxes in hazardous stacks. There was a space on the desk for his computer, a neat-looking lap-top complete with modem, but he’d have to shift what looked like stacks of teaching notes if he wanted to use the printer.

  ‘I always meant to sort this out,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Looks as if I’m going to have to – if you really want that stuff? Right! Now, where might it be?’ He stood in the middle of it all, shaking his head.

  Kate peered at the side of some of the nearest boxes: oranges from Morocco, South African grapes, Geest bananas. No more recent, more apposite labels. Each was full of envelope files, only the spines of which were visible. He hadn’t written the contents on them. Many had split and were bulging. Not many clues there, either.

  ‘I’ve always meant to develop a system,’ he said. ‘Maz was going to come and help me. She’s never got round to it – too busy. And now – well, where would you start?’

  What she really would have done was get a skip and throw the whole lot into it, on the principle that if he hadn’t looked at it since he moved, it could scarcely be vital to his wellbeing.

  ‘There’s more in the loft, too. Now, it might be in there, come to think of it.’ He backed out of the room. She followed. ‘The loft door’s in my bedroom – I hope you won’t be embarrassed. Hang on while I shove some of this stuff in the linen basket. Heavens, it’s time I put a load through the washer.’

  It was. The room was thick with the smell of male. And male socks.

  ‘Why don’t you go and do it now? I can have a quick look at the boxes in your study. Well, one box!’ She stood in the doorway watching him gather up pants and T-shirts, standing aside as he headed with a stinking armful for the stairs. Would he be offended if she opened a window?

  Preferring the mustiness of the study, she started on the nearest box. Shakespeare’s sonnets; Marlowe’s Edward II. Not promising. His university notes, perhaps. She’d started on the next when she heard him come back upstairs. Monet’s gardens; Pre-Raphaelite sexuality. She’d never known they had any, all those glum, goitred creatures.

  ‘Will you hold the steps?’ he called. ‘Only they’re a bit wobbly,’ he added as she went back into the bedroom. He was already half-way up, pushing at the small hatch in the ceiling. ‘It’s a bit of a tight fit, this.’

  It was. But he heaved and kicked his way upwards, finally disappearing. His face quickly reappeared. ‘Could you pass me that torch?’ He pointed to what was intended as a dressing table but was hidden under a detritus of coffee mugs and dust. Standing on the steps, she reached up.

  Had she made a ghastly mistake? He was so innocent, so helpful, she was sure she must have done. And there was poor Colin fossicking in all those bags. Talk about egg on your face. His and hers, both – if in different ways.

  ‘There’s some more up here,’ Paul called. ‘D’you want to have a flick through while I hold the torch?’

  She popped her head through the hatch. ‘Have you got boards down or is it just joists?’ Like the floor of her back bedroom, the one through which the wires ran to her security light … No, she didn’t want to be in that loft with him, come to think of it.

  ‘A few boards. Mostly joists.’

  ‘And you’d trust me not to put my foot through your ceiling? I wouldn’t!’ she laughed. ‘Why don’t you pass them down here, and we can check them in more comfort?’

  ‘They’re pretty heavy, mind. Take care – you don’t
want to rick your back. Got it?’

  They managed to bring down five altogether. None was labelled, and all were filthy. He came down, feet flailing for a safe hold. She grabbed his right ankle and steered him to a tread.

  ‘My goodness,’ he said staring at the mess.

  She supposed it was touching, his refusal to swear. In his place she’d have unleashed a string of expletives.

  ‘It’s going to take a bit of time to check that lot,’ he said. ‘And I’m supposed to be looking after the kids this weekend. I suppose I could bring them here …’

  Not on his life. She kept her face impassive. ‘I shall still be at the Manse this weekend,’ she said.

  ‘How urgent is it? To find whatever it is you want?’

  She shrugged. ‘I’m not sure: the Gaffer didn’t say. Tell you what,’ she said, more brightly than she felt, ‘if it is desperate, why don’t I get one of my colleagues to come and sort through it? Or they could take it all away if you’d prefer? You never know, it might even come back indexed and labelled.’

  ‘What if they don’t find anything? Do you think they’ll charge me with wasting police time?’ he laughed.

  She grinned back. ‘For someone, it gives a whole new meaning to the term dirty weekend, doesn’t it?’

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Colin, sprawled in the passenger seat of the Rover, was reading the Guardian. He folded it quickly round something as Kate staggered up with the first of the cardboard boxes. The folders in this one were stacked on end, making it even more awkward to carry. Paul followed more slowly, but since he was demonstrating his masculinity by carrying two at once, Kate could hardly blame him, nor when he had to put on a final spurt to reach the car without dropping them.

  ‘Look what Paul’s found for us,’ Kate said brightly. ‘And there’s another thirteen or fourteen to go. Better fold down the back seat.’

  All three of them were exhausted and filthy by the time they had packed them away.

  Kate wrote an official receipt. ‘I nearly forgot,’ she said. ‘How did you get on at the dentist?’

  Paul grinned cheerfully and laid a finger on his lips. ‘There was this dreadful planning meeting at work. I just decided I couldn’t face it. I’m busy job hunting at the moment. Don’t tell Maz – she’d hate it if she knew I might have to leave Brum. Look, I’m going in to have a shower.’ But he didn’t move.

  ‘See you at the Manse. I just need a couple of days to get my house clean,’ she said to Colin. ‘One of my neighbours may come up with a team if I come up with the money. You may know her son, Paul. Royston Mackenzie. He used to be in our BB.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Black kid,’ she prompted. ‘Good looking apart from his scowl. Anyway, he and his family have gone C of E now. Don’t know which church. Very happy there, I gather.’

  Paul shook his head. ‘No. Not if he didn’t stay long. Or I may have been off at University. I’m sorry his family left Brayfield Road, though. Will you be at the playing fields tomorrow? With the team?’

  ‘Try and stop me. And I’ll expect a full turn-out from the Manse, since you’ll be in charge. Even Lynn. She whinges for Europe, Colin. Hormones, I reckon. Will you be coming?’

  Colin gestured at the laden car. ‘I reckon Graham’s going to volunteer me into looking through this lot. Bit of a job, isn’t it, Paul, taking on kids like that for a whole weekend? How on earth d’you keep them quiet? I may have some chloroform somewhere!’

  Paul stared. At last, he smiled stiffly: ‘I may take you up on that. OK, Kate. See you later, then.’

  ‘See you!’ Kate flipped the keys to Colin, opening the passenger door. ‘I’ll help out with the kids, if you like. I’m getting quite an expert on steam engines.’

  This time Paul didn’t attempt to smile. He hardly did more than flap a hand as Colin drove away.

  ‘I’d say he didn’t think much of our jokes,’ Colin said. ‘Not that they were all that funny. Hardly more than quips, I suppose.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘You all right, our kid? You were a long time in there – I was about to come and join in the party.’

  ‘No party to join.’

  ‘Are you telling me you were happy being closeted with him?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not unhappy. Except when I thought he wanted me to go up into the loft. I could have panicked.’

  ‘You could have kicked your way through the ceiling quickly enough.’

  ‘Quite. Just – unreasoning panic. Anyway, we’ve got what we came for. God knows how long it’ll take to root through that lot, though.’

  He glanced over his shoulder at the boxes. ‘All weekend, at least. Two people. The bugger of it is, we’ll have to list everything. Document it. Seems a bit of a pisser to be doing it for him, idle bugger.’

  ‘I’m not sure he’s idle. Just too busy doing other things. And then the whole job’s so overwhelming you don’t know where to start. I wouldn’t myself.’

  ‘What a good job you won’t have to, then.’

  ‘What’s the betting I won’t be? OK, Graham’ll let me off tomorrow just so I can keep an eye on the kids. And Sunday – well, he knows I’m tied up in the mornings. But if he can work out some form of surveillance, he might well rope me in.’

  ‘He might. But then, he might not. Not unless he’s exceptionally nosy. Or perhaps I mean, exceptionally sadistic.’ His pause was meaningful. No doubt about it. ‘After all,’ he continued eventually, ‘there’s no need to sort out anything. The files you’re after are under my paper. There you are. By your right foot. At least I presume it’s them. Funny that he’d popped them in a black sack and left them for the bin men. Everything anyone could want to know about the BB ten years ago. Boys. Officers. Who went to camp. Everything.’

  ‘Once upon a time I knew this bloke in the South African police,’ Graham said. ‘These two suspects had just moved house, and the police had been ordered to search for incriminating papers. Could be anywhere. Even in a teapot. And the suspects weren’t allowed to touch anything, of course. So they sat back and watched while the police unpacked every last bit of their stuff. Clothes, china, books, records.’

  ‘And did they put them away?’ Kate asked.

  Graham laughed. ‘It was towards the end of the regime, and my mate had a fairly strong sense of which way the wind was blowing. So he made his colleagues dust everything and stack the shelves neatly and hang up the clothes properly. Didn’t find anything, of course. Future cabinet ministers don’t leave incriminating material for country cops to find.’ He smiled, pouring boiling water into three mugs. ‘Anyway, I’m very pleased with you both. It was quick thinking on both your parts.’

  ‘Kate’s, Graham – no, no more milk, thanks.’

  ‘Colin had the easy part,’ Kate said, her voice ironic. ‘Sorting through dirty nappies and second-hand condoms –’

  ‘I can assure you there were no nappies in Paul’s sack. Newspapers and cans – hasn’t the man ever heard of recycling?’

  ‘What sort of cans?’ Kate asked quickly.

  ‘No, no kids’ stuff. Imported lager.’

  Graham passed Kate her chocolate. ‘Quite unimpeachable. Like these files’ll be. You realise we’ll still have to go through them. But not until we’ve checked through what you retrieved, Colin. Come on: let’s get moving.’

  If the official leaving-time had come and gone, no one was getting vocal about it. They were in the Incident Room, all filthy together. But the group working on the documents Colin had retrieved were the most intent.

  ‘Right,’ Graham said, ‘Now we know who the BB officers were, I want to get weaving on checking them all: convictions before or since, where they are now – everything. Reg: that’s for you. Selby – are you with us, Selby? Or are you lost in virtual reality? – you’ll do the same with the older boys – there’s the list. See if there are boys who graduated into being officers here or anywhere else. No – I don’t expect you to do it yourselves – get
local CIDs to help. Now, here’s what I want the rest of you to do …’ He worked his way systematically through what was left of the squad. Then he caught Cohn’s eye. And Kate’s.

  He let them into his room, then closed the door.

  ‘Kate: I’m going to bend a rule or two this weekend. I want you to make sure the Manse is empty this evening. I’ve asked for and got permission to use surveillance equipment to protect the children –’

  ‘What do Maz and Giles say?’

  ‘Nothing. Because I shan’t decide it’s necessary until they’re safely on their way to wherever it is. OK? I can’t have Maz messing this up. Either she wouldn’t believe a word and she’d fly off the handle, or she would believe it all and she’d refuse to go.’

  ‘And in either scenario she might tell Paul,’ Colin added. ‘I can see you’re not happy, Kate, but he’s right. Even if he goes home, he can always let himself back in again. You can’t guard the kids all the time. Even if you sat outside Tim’s room all night the chances are you’d fall asleep.’

  ‘And it’s not just prevention we’re after, I suppose. It’s discreet prevention. And apprehension if he should try anything.’

  Graham nodded. ‘Believe me, he won’t even scratch his backside without us knowing. I’ll talk to Kings Heath about rostering. Now, you two have done well. Time you were – Hang on.’ He picked up the phone.

  It was all too obvious that the call wasn’t about work. He turned from them; simultaneously they started to talk quietly about how Kate could occupy all three children that evening.

  ‘And if you don’t go now,’ Colin said, opening the door, ‘there won’t be an evening.’

  He was right, of course. But she didn’t want to go without Graham’s agreement – he might have some last minute instructions. She hovered. At last, still listening to the phone, he turned to them both, gave them a thumbs-up and waved them away.

  During the whole of the journey home – not as long as usual, because the rush-hour was over – Kate was clenching her fists against the fear that she would find the Manse completely empty and she would have to raise the alarm. The scenarios became more convoluted with each red traffic light. But she wasn’t alone. She had to keep reminding herself she wasn’t alone. She was backed by a large – if invisible – team. Kings Heath carrying out surveillance. The boffins ready to plant all sorts of extraordinary electronic equipment. Her colleagues from central Birmingham – yes, she felt safer now Graham was back in charge. So stop gripping the wheel as if you were on a white-knuckle ride!