by John Harvey
'Not at all. But if there is something there, something in Mitchell's past, which I doubt, how come it's never come to light?'
Will held his tongue. When they had first taken Roberts into custody, he had been questioned about a number of other unsolved cases involving young girls without anything germane coming to light; and then, once the CPS had agreed the charges relating to Martina Jones, other matters had been allowed to fade away, more pressing things taking their place.
'The thing is this,' Noble said, 'if you include when he was on remand, Roberts has served more than half his time. He's successfully completed the sex offenders' treatment programme. The parole board found him truly contrite. He realises what he did was wrong.'
'Wrong?'
'Yes.'
'And you believe that?'
'Yes. Until he gives me reason to think otherwise.'
Will was quick out of his chair. 'He gives you reason, it's going to be too late.'
Noble thought this was another conversation that had just about run its course. 'He'll be on the sex offenders' register. For the first six months he'll be living in approved premises and reporting to his probation officer regularly. We'll be keeping a close eye on him, don't worry.'
Will looked back at him from the open door. 'Not as close as I will.'
'For God's sake, Will ...' Noble began.
But he was gone.
It was Wednesday morning, two days after Helen had passed on the news of Roberts' impending release. She was sitting on the only clear corner of Will's desk, taking advantage of his absence to make a personal call, mobile to her ear. 'Yes,' she said, encouragingly. And, 'Yes, really? You would? Here?' She laughed. 'I don't think Will would like that.' And she laughed again, low in her throat and loud.
'That's a dirty laugh if ever I heard one,' Will said, entering.
Helen murmured a quick, 'Gotta go,' snapped her phone shut and swivelled round, showing rather more leg than she'd perhaps intended.
'Sorry. Just needed to make a call.'
'That's okay.'
'You know what it's like out there, all that racket, everyone's ears flapping.'
'Private then?'
'Sort of.'
'Who's the lucky guy?'
Grinning, Helen raised a mocking eyebrow. 'Wouldn't you like to know.'
'Probably not.'
Helen slid down from his desk and smoothed her skirt along her thighs; she was wearing a sombre business suit in solemn black, black shoes with a slight heel, her hair, as was usual these days, pinned back.
'You in court later?' Will said.
'For my sins.'
'Curtis Chambers?'
'The very one.'
Chambers had got into an argument with a nightclub bouncer, driven off to his friend's house and borrowed a gun, a converted starting pistol that as often as not misfired, gone back to the club and, after more heated words and a deal of pushing and shoving, had taken the pistol from his pocket and shot the bouncer in the head. Miraculously, the man had survived. Chambers had been arrested three days later and charged with attempted murder, unlawful wounding and being in possession of a firearm in a public place. Now he was pleading self-defence.
'Open and shut, isn't it?' Will said.
'You'd think.'
Will eased himself down into his seat. 'I went to see Noble,' he said.
'About Roberts?'
'Yes.'
'Maybe not so wise.'
'You think so?'
Helen shook her head. 'Come on, Will. You know what I mean. You've got to let it go. Besides, they'll be all over him.'
'They?'
'MAPPA. He's not going to be able to turn the wrong way down a one-way street without someone knowing.'
'Nice idea,'Will said. 'Unfortunately they've got him pegged as Level Two. Not sufficiently high risk. Few months in a hostel, nice little chats with his probation officer. Keeps his nose clean, tells them what they want to hear and then when they wash their hands he can slip back beneath the radar.'
'I wonder,' Helen said.
'What?'
'Why it's got to you this much? There've been other cases since this, similar. Too many, God knows. Why let this one get under your skin?'
'I don't know. The fear in that girl's eyes when I first saw her? Roberts when we questioned him? Standing there with the sweat running off him, lying to his back teeth. That leering little smile. Like he was remembering.'
'It's out of our hands, Will. There's nothing we can do.'
Will looked up at her and didn't answer.
He took his time. Didn't go barging in. Even found a way to chat to Roberts' probation officer, nothing official, no big deal, simply passing the time of day. Apparently, Roberts had turned up neat and on time for his first appointment, no problems about his accommodation, everything fine, eager to find work, get a job, start earning for when he could rent a place for himself. There was a garage owner who had been prevailed upon to take on ex-offenders before and might be again. Owned one of those fast-fit tyre and exhaust places. More than one, in fact. And by all accounts Roberts knew his way round most vehicles blindfold. Good with his hands.
Will watched him from where he was parked a short way along the street: Mitchell Roberts in shapeless cargo pants and a dark sweater, a pair of work boots on his feet. His sandy hair, always fair, had been cut so short that in the keenness of the morning light he appeared to be almost bald.
A free man out for a stroll, rolled newspaper in one hand, reacclimatising himself at his own speed, in his own time, pleased to be back in the world.
Will kept him in sight and, when he judged the distance between them was sufficient, he slid out from behind the wheel, locked the car, and followed.
Not hurrying, Roberts' route took him across two main roads and a busy intersection, and then past the new Museum of Technology, by which time Will thought he knew where he was heading: Stourbridge Common, a broad patch of open ground alongside the River Cam.
He watched as Roberts chose a seat with his back to the water, unfolded his newspaper and began to read.
Without causing him to look up, several cyclists went past at intervals, using the approved path, then a small group of workmen on their way back from lunch, returning to one of the small factory units clustered around Mercers Row; some teenage boys, playing the wag from school, started kicking a football around towards the far side of the common; a silver-haired couple in tracksuit tops and white shorts passed close by him on their way to the tennis courts beyond the bowling green.
Roberts lit a cigarette.
Time passed.
A young woman went by pushing a pram, baby asleep inside, a toddler making reluctant progress behind.
From one of the pockets of his cargo pants, Roberts took a paperback book, found his place and proceeded to read.
It was the best part of forty minutes before the first of the children from the nearest primary school appeared, taking the bridge across the river and then the path that led out towards the Newmarket Road. Four or five boys, aged nine or ten, pushing, pulling, arguing, yelling at the tops of their voices, oblivious of anyone save themselves. Two girls followed, book bags in their hands, each listening to a single headphone from the MP3 player clutched in the taller one's hand. A few parents with children then, the women gossiping, kids lagging behind, laughing, calling names.
Roberts was alert now, the book still open on his lap, but his eyes everywhere.
As Will watched, a fair-haired girl, purple anorak over a white blouse and a green pleated skirt, screamed as one of the boys snatched the hat from her head and sent it skimming close to where Roberts was sitting.
Before she could retrieve it, Roberts, moving with surprising speed, had scooped it up and stood, arm extended, holding it towards her.
'Here. Here you are.'
Will read the words on his lips.
The girl hesitated, then darted forward and, not quite looking at Roberts' face, took the hat from him
and backed away.
'Say thank you,' her mother called.
'Thank you,' Will imagined the girl saying, though he couldn't hear the words.
As she ran back to where her mother was waiting, Will's eyes were fixed on Mitchell Roberts' face, the smile that lingered, the cat that had just had sight of the cream.
'What the hell were you thinking of?' Liam Noble asked.
They were on the stairs between the first and second floors at Parkside, Noble on his way up towards CID as Will was leaving.
'Now?' Will said, scarcely breaking his stride. 'Going home. I promised Lorraine I'd be back before she put Susie to bed.'
'Will, wait ...'
He stopped and turned.
'You know what I mean,' Noble said.
'This afternoon?'
'Yes, this afternoon.'
'Keeping an eye on a potential reoffender. Someone has to.'
'Not you.'
'No? Well, until somebody else steps up I might just have to do it myself.'
'It's none of your business, Will. Not any more.'
'Yeah, well ...' He swung away and continued down the stairs.
Noble caught up with him close to the ground floor and stopped, blocking his way. Voices drifted up from the lobby, one of the duty officers making the same point again and again.
'Look,' Will said, 'I don't see why you're getting in such a state. I didn't speak to him, I didn't interfere. I doubt very much if he even knew I was there. And as soon as I got back here I sent you an email outlining what I think are very real concerns.'
'Our concerns, Will, not yours.'
'Only just out and one of the first afternoons he's free, he's out there, hanging round some school, I'd say that was cause for concern, wouldn't you?'
Noble shook his head. 'I've read your email, Will, looked at the map. Roberts was a good half a mile away from that school, if not more.'
'Half a mile away on a route some of those children take ...'
'Will, Will, there are children everywhere. You know that as well as I do. We can't fit him with blinkers, keep him on a leash.'
'More's the pity.'
'If he'd been loitering close to the school, any school, a playground somewhere, anything that would be breaking the terms under which he was released, we'd apply for an emergency recall to prison. No hesitation.'
'Fine. Just show me how you're going to know.'
'I've told you. We're monitoring him at a level commensurate with the risk involved ...'
'You're what?'
'... and any rise in those risk levels will be properly assessed and responded to.'
'By which time he'll have done it again.'
'I doubt that very much.'
'You do? Then you should have seen the look on his face this afternoon.'
'Stay away, Will. Steer clear. Please don't force me to go over your head.'
Will fixed him with a stare. 'I'll do my job, Liam, as best I see fit. I suggest you do the same.'
Skirting round Noble, he pushed his way out of the building and into the car park. If Helen had been there, waiting by her VW instead of still being on her way back from court, he might have bummed a cigarette, his first in years. Instead, he got into his car and turned the key in the ignition, letting the engine idle while he switched on the radio: another teenage suicide in South Wales, the number now not so far short of twenty. The Welsh Assembly, the report continued, had voted to increase its spending on youth welfare with the aim of decreasing the suicide rate by ten per cent in the next three years. Too bad for the other ninety per cent, Will thought, presumably they could just go hang.
Replacing the radio news with a CD by the Arctic Monkeys, he turned the volume up loud and, with a swift look over his shoulder, pulled out into the evening traffic.
7
By the time Will arrived home, Jake was sitting up to the table, labouring over baked beans on toast; Susie was strapped into her high chair while Lorraine, despairing of her daughter's wayward attempts to feed herself, patiently spooned a mashed-up mixture of chicken, rice and vegetables into her mouth. Music dribbled from the radio.
Will bent and kissed Lorraine on top of the head, then leaned forward to kiss Susie's cheek; when he ruffled his son's hair and went to kiss him, too, the boy turned his face sharply away.
'What's wrong?' Will asked.
Jake hunched his shoulders and made no reply.
'What's got into him?' Will asked his wife.
'I was about to cook him stuffed pasta and he said, no, he wanted beans on toast, and then, when I asked him to switch off some television programme he was watching and come and get it, he threw a tantrum and I had to practically drag him here and sit him down and now you'd think I was trying to poison him.'
Will sighed. 'Come on, Jake, there's a good boy. Eat your tea.'
Jake pushed a soggy piece of toast from one side of the plate to the other with his fork.
'Jake...'
'It's okay,' Lorraine said. 'Leave him. If he wants to go to bed hungry that's his lookout.'
Will took a carton of orange juice from the fridge, poured some into a glass and drank it down, then went upstairs to change.
When he returned, wearing a faded sports top and an old pair of jeans, Jake was still sitting sullenly over his plate, arms folded in defiance, and Lorraine was in the process of unfastening Susie from her chair.
'Take her for a minute, will you?' Lorraine said, holding the child out towards him. 'She's falling asleep.'
Smartly, Lorraine lifted Jake's plate away from under his nose, swept its contents into the bin with his knife, and deposited it in the sink.
'Right, young man. Upstairs and into your pyjamas, wash your face and hands and clean your teeth.'
'But ...'
'No buts. If you're good and quick your dad'll read you a story before turning out your light.'
'But you promised ...'
'You heard what I said, now go.'
Wrenching his chair round noisily, head down, the weight of the world on his shoulders, Jake trudged from the room.
Will and Lorraine exchanged weary smiles.
'Busy day?' Will asked.
'No more than usual. You?'
'Don't ask.'
'Fancy a cup of tea?'
'Love one.'
Lorraine went to fill the kettle at the sink and Will shifted Susie's position against his chest, surprised as ever at how little she weighed, how fine her bones.
Will, there are children everywhere.
He buried his face against the top of Susie's head, eyes closed, breathing in her smell.
An hour or so later, supper finished, they were in the living room, curtains drawn, idly watching the TV.
'How's Helen?' Lorraine asked.
'Fine as far as I know. Why d'you ask?'
'I thought I saw her in town today.'
'Ely?'
'No, Cambridge. She was with some man. Near the market square.'
'With?' Will eased himself up a little in the chair. 'How d'you mean, with?'
'With, as in ... you know. You know what I mean.'
'How could you tell?'
Lorraine smiled. 'One minute they seemed to be arguing. The next she was all over him.'
'All over...?'
'Kissing him.' She grinned. 'Tongues.'
'And this was the middle of the day?'
'What if it was?' Lorraine said, amused.
'She's not some teenager.'
'And you're not her father.' Lorraine laughed. 'If I didn't know you better, I'd think you were jealous.'
'Now you're talking daft.'
'Will, for God's sake,' Lorraine said, laughing. 'Calm down. Chill.'
'I'm fine. Okay? Fine.'
For some minutes they sat in silence, staring at the screen.
'What did he look like, anyway?' Will asked.
'I don't know. Your sort of age. Maybe a bit older. Leather jacket. Dark hair.'
'One of us? Anothe
r officer?'
'I don't know. Why don't you ask her?'
'Maybe I will.'
Lorraine knew better than to say any more.
'Are you watching this?' Will asked a while later, nodding towards the television.
'No, are you?'
'No.'
He used the remote to switch off the set. 'I'll go on up,' he said.
Some minutes later, when she hadn't followed, he came back down. Lorraine was standing outside on the back step, coat round her shoulders, smoking a spliff, the smell sweet on the night air.
'How's it going to look,' Will asked, 'when you're arrested for possession?'
'For you? Pretty bad. You'll have to resign, I imagine. The children'll be taken into care.'
'Over my dead body.'
'They may not go that far.'
She took a last drag and turned towards him, her hip pushing against his groin, his hand moving down her spine through the thin material of her dress. When she kissed him her mouth was full of smoke.
Next morning, Will had a meeting at police headquarters in Huntingdon:Towards a Policy for the Handling and Management of Confidential and Covert Human Intelligence Sources. Human Intelligence Sources. What used to be called informants. What used to be called snouts.
By the time he got back to Cambridge his ears were clogged with high-minded promises, evasions and officialese: the difficulties of balancing compelling issues of public interest with the need not to compromise ongoing investigations or subsequent court proceedings; the importance of protecting the identity of sources, if necessary by applying for an exemption to prevent the release of information requested under the Freedom of Information Act, 2000.
One precept stuck in his mind: in order to tackle crime effectively and make the community safer, there are times when it may be necessary to infringe upon the human rights of the individual.
He thought he might quote that at Liam Noble next time they crossed paths.
At lunch-time,Will found Helen was sitting on one of the benches near the edge of Parker's Piece, the swathe of open ground that faced away from the police station on Parkside. Collar turned up against a chilling wind, she sat with the inevitable cigarette in one hand, a take-away cup of coffee in the other.
