by Julie Corbin
‘They’re guessing.’
‘Yes, but is it true?’
‘He’s not squeaky clean, no. But he’s no monster either.’
‘So somewhere in between?’
‘Closer to good than to bad. He came forward of his own accord.’
I can tell that Mac admires his bravery and in other circumstances I might too. Now, though, I want Bea’s safety to be worth more than his.
‘Claire.’ He leans towards me. ‘Georgiev is worse than the worst of them. The man is an experienced killer and torturer. He has destroyed more lives than you and I could count. Earlier this year he had a fourteen-year-old girl raped and murdered because she refused to have sex with one of his men. As long as we have the witness, the case against Georgiev is rock solid. He needs to be put away for life.’
‘I’m sure. But give it a few months and some other scum will rise to the surface to take his place.’
‘And we’ll get him too. That’s the job.’
‘Well, Julian’s job has now crossed over into our lives. I have to be able to protect my children. I’m their mother.’
His eyes acknowledge this. ‘I’ll help you every way I can. I hope you know that.’
I lean back and sigh. It’s not that I don’t believe him, but his priorities are different from mine. ‘Has Georgiev been questioned? He’s obviously pulling the strings.’
‘He’s been questioned numerous times. His cell has been searched. His post is checked. His visitors are screened. He’s refusing to admit he’s playing any part in this.’
‘Why can’t you make him cooperate?’ Even as I say it, I know it’s ridiculous. The law is reasonable, controlled, non-reactionary. It doesn’t resort to torture or manipulation. Marvellous for protecting the innocent, but not so great when hardened criminals use our own civility against us.
‘He’s not a man who is ever going to cooperate with the British judicial system.’
I use my chin to gesture towards the pages of emails. ‘So what did you think of these?’
‘Profilers have been casting their beady eyes over them.’
‘And have they come up with anything?’
‘So far just what you might expect – that the English is flawless, the pace controlled. They think the most likely perpetrator is not one of Georgiev’s heavies but someone more sophisticated.’
‘Maybe.’ I have been considering this myself. ‘But profilers don’t always get it right.’
‘They don’t, but the two guys we have at the moment are shit hot.’
I have the feeling he’s saying this to reassure me. ‘But what do you think?’ I say. ‘Do you have any idea who might be writing them?’
‘Georgiev has an extensive network of criminals working for him from accountants through to delivery drivers, but his closest people are usually relations: cousins, nephews, in-laws.’ He taps the pages. ‘This approach is subtle for him. Often he favours the heavies turning up with their Kalashnikovs. I think they’re very deliberately going for the gradual build-up of fear in the hope that Julian will crack.’
‘And will he?’
He stares at me for a few seconds, trying to gauge the reason I’ve asked him such a question. ‘No, I don’t think he will. Do you?’
‘He’s not easily intimidated.’
‘Would you like him to give in?’
‘Yes.’ I nod. ‘If you can’t find this emailer within the next couple of days, then I would.’
‘Claire—’
‘I know all the arguments. But these people are talking about kidnapping my child.’ I press my chest. ‘My four-year-old daughter, Mac. The world’s population is what – almost seven billion? And I have given birth to three of them. How can I not be biased? How can I not put their welfare ahead of other people’s?’
‘Every person is someone’s child.’
‘For sure, and I know about the girls who’re trafficked and I know their lives are hell and I do care. I do. But when it comes to making a choice, I will put my own children first.’ I sit back in my seat and take a few deep breaths.
He holds up the packet. ‘Do you want this last biscuit?’
I shake my head.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’ I push the peanuts on the napkin towards him. ‘Have those too.’ And then I can’t resist. ‘Doesn’t your wife feed you?’
‘She’s modern. She expects me to muck in.’
‘No packed lunches?’
‘Should I be asking for those?’ He narrows his eyes. ‘She’s good with a gun.’
‘She’s a policewoman?’
‘She teaches yoga, but her family hunt, shoot, fish – all that good stuff.’
I start back. ‘You married a posh girl?’
‘Yes.’ He tips the peanuts into his mouth. ‘And no.’
‘You’re nothing if not cryptic.’ I stop talking and put my head in my hands. This whole meeting feels surreal: the flux from deadly serious to casual teasing. ‘I can’t believe I’m having this conversation.’ I lift my head, shake it and then keep going. ‘I thought I was done with this world. You are the company you keep, you know? And for the past five years I’ve been having a quiet time at home with my family. I don’t see criminals round every corner. I don’t presume people are lying. That’s not my world any more.’ I take a deep breath. ‘Or it wasn’t until now. Fucking hell.’ I make a face. ‘That’s another thing – I haven’t said “fuck” since I worked with policemen.’
‘You’re softer now.’
‘Yes.’ I look at him sideways, but he seems to mean it.
‘Not in the head,’ he adds. ‘Obviously.’
I smile. ‘Well, I can feel the old me coming back. I’m toughening up again.’ I look down at the emails and then say what’s been slowly crystallising since I first read them. ‘I think there’s a good chance that whoever’s writing these is a woman.’
His eyes widen.
‘The detail about Bea’s shoes and dress,’ I say. ‘The shopping we bought.’
‘You think a man can’t notice these things?’
‘I think it’s less likely. But what really strikes me is this.’ I lift the page and read from the fourth email. ‘“She was carrying her stuffed dog, Bertie.”’
Mac sits back in his chair, his arms folded. ‘You think that the fact Bea’s toy is named makes it more likely to be a woman?’
‘Yes, I do, and more than that, I think it’s someone who knows us and I think Julian thinks that too, otherwise he wouldn’t have been so afraid when Bea was with Amy.’ I also sit back in my seat, feeling not exactly triumphant but sure that I have added insight to the investigation. ‘He told you about that, didn’t he?’ I say. ‘Isn’t that why the policemen appeared in the street?’
He nods. ‘We’re not ruling out the possibility that someone close to you could be the blackmailer.’
‘But you think it’s unlikely?’
‘As I said, Georgiev uses people he knows, mostly fellow Bulgarians. Do you have any friends who’re Bulgarian?’
‘No.’
‘Do any of your friends have criminal records or criminal links of any kind?’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘Were you with a friend when you and Bea walked home last Thursday?’
‘When we went to the deli, you mean?’
‘Yes.’
I shake my head.
‘Did you talk to anyone? See someone you knew across the street?’
‘No.’
‘Did you feel like you were being followed?’
‘No.’ My optimism that we might be getting somewhere is beginning to deflate. ‘But—’
‘Are you suspicious of anyone you know?’
‘No. Not exactly!’ I throw out my hands. ‘But still . . .’
‘The truth is, the information in these emails could be got in a twenty-second observation from a passer-by.’
‘But think about it, Mac. If Bea has been watched at nursery, if we hav
e been followed, it has to be easier for a woman than some beefy guy with a gold chain and tattoos. And I think the language of the emails backs this up.’
‘I’m not ruling out your idea and I will speak to the profilers about it,’ he says, his tone placatory, ‘but I think we have to keep an open mind, otherwise we could set off in one direction and be taken unawares when the threat comes from an unexpected source.’
‘OK, OK,’ I concede. ‘But the bottom line is the pre-trial hearing’s five days away and we have no definite leads?’
‘Nothing definite, no.’
‘Well, I’ve been thinking. If the witness protection order is not overturned at the hearing, then I’m going to take the children away – all three of them – because if I only take Bea away, then the spotlight could fall on Charlie or Jack. I’ll take them to France or America, I don’t know where, but I’m not letting them stick around here when they could be in danger.’ I hold my hands up to stop him from butting in. ‘I appreciate that you have a job to do and that putting this man away is important to the country – I understand that – but it makes sense for the children and me to—’ And then I remember Lisa. ‘I can’t take Lisa abroad.’ Even somewhere in the UK would be difficult. She needs continuity of medical care. She needs speedy access to an oncologist, and she needs a community nurse to administer intramuscular medication and check her vital signs. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’
‘I have a solution to that,’ Mac says. ‘Julian has already told me about your sister. We can arrange specialist nursing in the UK.’ He looks uncomfortable suddenly. ‘I have suggested to Julian that on Tuesday you all move to a safe house.’
‘A safe house?’ Dread seeps into my mouth. It tastes of metal, of blood. ‘No,’ I say tersely. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘We’re making one ready.’
‘No.’
‘The best option is to get right away from where they expect to find you.’
‘You’re forgetting that the last time I had anything to do with a safe house, Kerry Smith ended up dead.’
‘That was different, Claire.’
‘Was it?’ I fold my arms. ‘Why?’
‘It was more of a women’s refuge than a safe house.’
‘Well, she thought – in fact we promised – that she and her children would be safe and yet she was knifed to death in front of them.’
‘Will you please consider the safe-house option?’
I don’t answer.
‘Are you worried that Lisa won’t move into it with you?’
‘No.’ My fists are clenched on my knees under the table. ‘I’m sure she would come.’ The room is growing airless. I feel like I have a tight band round my throat, but when I touch my neck, there’s nothing there. Lisa. She needs stability. Good food. Peace. Quiet. Not a tense, fearful few weeks or months when we will be staying in an unfamiliar place, all of us cooped up and waiting for something to go wrong.
‘I understand your reservations about a safe house.’
‘Do you?’ I frown at him. ‘How do you think Abe found out where Kerry was?’
‘We never established that. You know we didn’t.’
‘Do you think it was a member of the police force, social services, or was it just chance that he found her?’
‘Claire, I know how badly that case affected you.’ He cradles his coffee mug in his hands. ‘But you didn’t make a mistake.’ He leans across and takes my hand, a comforting gesture. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’
‘Well, it wasn’t not my fault,’ I say quietly. ‘And if I’d been totally focused, I would have pushed for her to be moved to another house when I came into work on the Monday and saw where she was.’
‘I was as much to blame.’
I bring my hands on to my knees. ‘It’s on my conscience, Mac. I felt uneasy, but I ignored the feeling when I should have acted on it. There’s no excuse for that.’ And there’s nothing I can do about what followed either – our no-holds-barred investigation to get Abe convicted and then my once-in-a-marriage slip-up with the man opposite me. I look at him. There’s the merest flicker of acknowledgement that one event followed another: Kerry’s death, Abe’s conviction and then our coming together in the bathroom.
‘You’re not that sort of woman,’ he says.
‘What sort of woman?’
‘The sort of woman who has affairs.’ His face is without expression. ‘So that’s one less thing to feel guilty about.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Definitely.’ His eyes grow serious. ‘You’re the last person who needs to beat herself up for extra-marital shenanigans. You were known for playing it straight.’
‘Thanks.’ In truth, I hope Julian has forgiven me. We haven’t talked about it for years and I hardly think about it any more, but the sight of Mac, in the flesh and up close, has brought it all back to me. I betrayed Julian’s trust, and the very fact that I’m talking to Mac now means that I’m betraying him again. ‘Julian knows that I had sex with someone,’ I say quietly. ‘He just doesn’t know who. I think he assumed it was another solicitor.’
‘I guessed as much. He showed no reaction when I met him.’ He pauses and looks at me sideways. ‘You’re not going to be tempted to tell him, are you?’
‘No.’ We lock eyes. ‘Are you?’
‘Why would I?’
‘I remember you telling Jim Peterson that you’d been with his wife.’
‘Aw, come on!’ He throws out his arms. ‘Peterson was a wanker. There was a grudge behind that.’
‘So you had sex with his wife?’
‘I’m not proud of it!’ He pretends to think back. ‘I was probably drunk when I told him.’
‘You were completely sober. It was ten o’clock in the morning. He missed your face and punched a hole in the wall.’
‘The walls were plasterboard.’
‘Please, Mac.’ I grip the edges of the table, watch his eyes clock that fact, before moving back to my face. ‘The focus has to be on keeping my family safe. We have to get this right.’
‘And we will. I promise you.’
‘It has to be watertight.’ I allow my scared eyes to meet the sincerity in his. ‘I can’t risk my child being hurt.’
‘She won’t be.’ He shakes his head. ‘It won’t happen.’ He leans in closer. ‘Claire. Listen. You can trust me. I know you and—’
‘Don’t!’ I pull away, wary of the power he so easily exerts. He’s a good listener. He has a wide and generous heart. But I, more than anyone, know that what feels like comfort can so quickly flip into something altogether more dangerous.
‘I was only going to say that I’ve missed you.’ He smiles. ‘Is that so bad? You never came back to work. It seemed like one day you were there, the next you weren’t.’
‘I don’t want to be a solicitor any more. I’m happy with my life. I love being at home. You might shake your head, but really, who needs it? Who needs work with all its hassles and responsibilities?’
‘You’re missed, Claire.’
‘After all these years? I doubt it.’
‘You have a huge likeability factor, which, let’s face it, can’t be said for most of your lot.’
‘Is that why you texted me?’
‘Yeah.’ He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. ‘And I guess you haven’t missed me or you would have answered them.’
‘I crossed a line with you. I don’t want to cross it again.’
‘You think this is me seducing you?’ He gives a short, mirthless laugh. ‘A bitter coffee and some custard creams?’
‘No.’ I frown. ‘Of course not. I just want to keep things . . . simple. If past stuff gets in the way, if Julian finds out . . .’
‘No distractions. I get it.’ His face hardens. ‘I take my job seriously. My priority is your family’s safety. End of.’ He stands up. ‘I have to get back to the station. I’ll be coming to see you all on Monday after the pre-trial hearing. Better not say anything to anyone before then.’
> We walk to the door together. ‘What about my stepmother, Wendy?’
‘In terms of the safe house?’
I nod.
‘We’ve included her in the plan.’ He holds the door and I walk out on to the pavement. ‘Julian wasn’t sure but he thought you might want her along for support.’
‘Yes,’ I say, wondering how she’ll cope, wondering how we’ll all cope, Jack separated from his friends, Charlie from Amy. There are the logistics of packing and of caring for Lisa. ‘And then there’s Sezen.’
‘She cooks for you?’
‘Yes.’ I realise that Julian will have told him our family set-up. He will already know about everyone who goes in and out of our house.
‘Can you do without her?’
‘I’d rather not. I haven’t employed her for me, or for the family. She’s with us for Lisa. She has the sort of expertise I don’t have.’
‘The more people involved, the more likely there is to be a leak.’ He looks regretful. ‘She has a child. Always complicates things.’
It’s true, and anyway, how could I expect her to be cooped up with us, unable to get in touch with friends or even take her daughter to the shops without looking over her shoulder?
‘Where are you parked?’
I point along the street. ‘That way.’
‘I’m the other way.’ He holds me to him, hugs me tight. ‘It’s been good seeing you again. You take care.’ He crosses over the road and shouts back, ‘I’ll be in touch.’
7
Leaving Tooting High Street behind, I walk to my car, climb inside, close my eyes and let my head flop back against the headrest. In the space of twenty-four hours, life as I know it has hurtled into a dark and ominous place. I feel emotionally exhausted. It’s every parent’s worst fear that harm could come to their child and this is what’s happening to us. Right here. Right now. Bea’s safety is under threat, and every time I think of someone hurting her, fear creeps through me, deep into every muscle, every organ and every bone. I can’t even begin to imagine how any of us would cope without her. Our whole family would be destroyed. Julian, Charlie, Jack, Wendy, Lisa – our lives would be for ever altered. And I for one doubt whether I could hold on to my sanity.
