Double Fault

by Judith Cutler

  Gavin squatted beside him. ‘I’m going to lower a foil blanket. We need to keep you warm. But if that foot’s as bad as you say, it may need surgery, so no nice hot tea and bikkies. OK with that?’

  ‘More than OK,’ she declared, swathing herself.

  ‘Pity Livvie can’t see you like that,’ Mark said. ‘She’d think you looked like a fairy.’

  ‘You’re sure she’s OK? Good. What about the guy they think kidnapped her?’

  ‘Taken in for questioning.’

  ‘Oh, Fran’ll enjoy that. She won’t? Mark, what haven’t you told me? Is she OK? She isn’t, is she? My God, what’s—’

  ‘It looks like a torn muscle or snapped tendon. But they’ve carted her off to A and E.’

  ‘So what the hell are you doing here?’

  He managed a wry smile she soon shared: ‘Acting under her orders. Would I dare do otherwise?’

  ‘Who would? Ah! They’ve started on the stable wall. Watch for the landslip. Don’t worry – the rope’s got me safe. See?’

  He did see – the expression on her face as she tried to use her leg. But Gavin clearly had a system, and he was in the way.

  ‘Mark – go to Fran. And tell her I’ll be in the next A and E cubicle before she can say crutch. Go!’ Her cheeriness didn’t deceive him; she didn’t want an audience for what promised to be a very painful manoeuvre. All their bloody stoicism: she and Fran might have been mother and daughter for all they liked letting their guard down.

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Sure. Fran needs you: go!’

  He went.

  Every other time he’d had to collect Fran from A and E, she’d been furious that he’d left her there so long. She’d been demanding clothes or shoes she could wear over her injured limb. Most of all, her freedom.

  This time, on the hard narrow bed, she didn’t stir. For a moment – and he forced back the bile brought up by his terror – he thought she was dead, she lay so still. Flat on her back; hands clasped lightly on her chest; feet supported by three or four pillows – apart from the angle of her legs, trousers rolled to the knees, she might have been a figure on an Elizabethan tomb. Except, he told himself with a rueful, affectionate smile, carved figures didn’t snore. He looked down at her, ready to take her hand, but unwilling to wake her. If anyone could sleep in the chaos of a busy A and E, they must be very tired indeed. Or as Caffy would say, he or she must be very tired indeed.

  He found a chair and sat beside her, ready to wait.

  She opened an eye. ‘Caffy?’

  ‘Will be joining you soon. Her leg got in the way when the wall collapsed. Just her leg. She wouldn’t let me rescue her because she thought three of us hobbling round on our wedding day would be a bit too much.’

  ‘Seven weeks on Saturday. We’ve both got time to shed the sticks – again. They think I tore a muscle. Nothing much.’

  He looked: judging from the size of her calf, it was rather more than nothing much. However, if it was just enough to keep her away from work till she’d caught up on some sleep he’d be grateful.

  ‘They gave me some painkillers in triage. They seem to have made me a bit sleepy.’

  ‘A bit! You were sending your pigs to market for five minutes at least after I arrived. Ah, a medic.’

  He stood back to await fireworks as a brisk young woman with hair scraped back in an Essex facelift ponytail approached. He got a worryingly docile fiancée nodding sagely and obediently, even when the words five days’ complete rest were uttered. ‘Yes, a muscle tear. Just here, I’d say? Yes?’

  Fran yelped obligingly.

  ‘Could be worse. Could be a tendon. Could be a ligament.’

  ‘Treatment?’ Fran sounded humble.

  ‘RICE, Mrs Harman,’ the doctor said, as if to a child. ‘Rest, ice, compression, elevation. A nurse will strap it up in a moment. Ice it the moment you get home. Keep it above heart height. Complete inactivity bar just a few very gentle ankle exercises every hour.’

  Mark asked grimly, ‘And if she doesn’t? If she goes into work?’

  ‘Simples,’ the young woman declared in an irritating Russian meerkat advert voice. ‘It’ll take much longer to get better. Five days’ total rest, Mrs Harman. The nurse will make you a follow-up appointment next Monday – then we’ll see if you’re ready for physio. Meanwhile, use the crutches we’ll organize for you all the time. Repeat, both crutches, all the time. The more heroics, the less progress.’

  ‘Thank you, doctor,’ he and Fran said as one. She didn’t mention the ones left lying somewhere in her office.

  He shot her a suspicious look the moment they were alone again. ‘Am I to believe a single word you said?’

  ‘Those were the first words I was planning to say to Sean Murray tomorrow morning. Doesn’t look as if I’ll get the chance, now. It won’t even be light duties for a bit, will it?’

  ‘Not unless you plan to run your departments from the elegance of that chaise longue we’ve always loved and never quite got round to using. Actually, if there was anything truly vital, you could Skype. Either that or this time the mountain will simply have to come to Mohammed.’

  ‘I’ll worry about that in the morning. Hello, that isn’t Caffy, is it?’

  Mark waved.

  An obliging nurse changed course and steered her wheelchair towards them, promising to tell his colleagues where she was. Somehow they managed a three-way hug.

  ‘Your foot. I let you get hurt!’ Fran exclaimed.

  ‘Not you. Gavin said it was Zac trying to reach Livvie that precipitated the collapse. And that you were trying to stop him. Actually, those nice paramedics think I couldn’t move it not because anything was broken but because it was just so compressed by the weight of the rubble. Of course they’ll want to scan it, but the paramedics said I needed a lot of ice, a bit of compression and a bit of rest. I shall dance at the wedding, never fear. Will you?’

  ‘If I have to spend all day, every day, doing physio I will. I promise. Spend all that on a gorgeous dress and have the line spoilt by crutches? I think not.’

  TWENTY-SIX

  There was no problem getting Ed and Ray to update her on the abduction case: they needed her input into their joint report, and turned up mid-morning with embarrassing quantities of flowers.

  ‘We’d have bought chocs and biscuits too,’ Ray said, ‘but your secretary vetoed them.’

  Fran nodded: ‘Price beyond pearls, that woman. Or is it rubies?’

  They also brought a pile of files, a neat camera to video her responses and a capacity to drink large quantities of tea and coffee, which they had to make themselves since Mark took advantage of their presence to join the Golden Oldies on court.

  ‘You should have seen the stuff we found on Thwaite’s computer,’ Ed told her. ‘If only we’d had the remotest excuse, I should have taken it earlier and had it examined. Anyway, now we have it, with links to all sorts of equally unlovely men, including the one he called on last night. This sleazeball lives on the coast, so our guess is Thwaite wanted to cadge a boat trip to France. With or without Livvie. Actually, if we hadn’t interfered we think he’d have taken her.’

  ‘Kidnap to order?’

  ‘Yup. Either – best scenario – a rich childless couple wanting a china doll of a daughter, or –’ He stopped as if he didn’t want to articulate the alternative.

  ‘We’re talking all sorts of video nasties, maybe even a snuff movie?’

  ‘That’s what I’d fear.’ He took a deep breath. They all did. ‘We’d still have got him, of course, but sooner rather than later is best, in my opinion.’

  ‘Yes, indeed. So did he take Livvie to order, as it were, or just on impulse?’

  ‘Fran, the planning that went into it,’ Ray said, leaning forward so she didn’t have to twist to see him. ‘Goodness knows how many other actual or attempted abductions we’ll be able to pin on him. The collapse of the stable block will have messed up most of our forensics, but from what Livvie says
the priest’s hole was a proper little Wendy house – her words. She’s as bright as a button. Said there was a plastic barrel full of water. Food and packets of juice. Toys. Tiny bed. The only thing she didn’t like was the loo – the old garde-robe, I think your Caffy called it. She was afraid she’d fall down the hole, poor little mite, if she used it. Anyway, the medics sent her straight home with her family – but of course there’ll be constant assessments. Ermintrude will have to stay a bit longer just to fend off the media, of course, but once they’ve had their pics, I hope they’ll leave the family alone. Including young Zac. What’s the latest on Mark’s car, by the way?’

  ‘You don’t want to know. OK, you do. The graffiti’s been modified a bit so no one could read exactly what it said and it’s booked in for repair later this week. The club will pay if the miscreant can’t or won’t. Mark thinks he probably will.’ She eased herself up a little. ‘There’s one thing you could do for me, Ray. I promised Bethany I’d get her a pink teddy, as soon as she was found, like the one we used as a prop on one of the appeals. Zac felt unhappy, since it wasn’t really Livvie’s. I bet she’s buried in teddies from thousands of well-wishers at the moment, but I’d really like to keep my promise.’

  He made a note. ‘It’s a sort of touching wood, isn’t it?’

  ‘There is one thing, Fran, I’d like your advice on.’ Ed shifted in his chair. ‘While we were pounding round the countryside yesterday evening, some guy called the BBC and promised a reward of ten thousand pounds for information leading to Livvie’s recovery. And there’s the cash the club members have raised. That’s near enough six thousand. The obvious person to get it all – well, it’s Mark, isn’t it?’

  ‘Sometimes the obvious thing isn’t the answer,’ she said slowly. ‘I mean, yes, of course he should have a reward, but one thing retired senior police officers aren’t terribly short of is money. And it wouldn’t look at all well in the media, would it? But I’m not the one to make the decision. If you want to nominate Mark, that’s your business. But I’ll bet you a fiver he’d be horrified.’

  ‘Of course, there are the two girls who approached him. And then the Golden Oldies did their reconstruction …’

  ‘You could always float the idea to Mark that the club as a whole might accept the money – they could use it to build some decent loos and strengthen their fences. Maybe a crèche for littlies, too. Of course, this is rather shutting the stable door after the horse – sorry. Really didn’t mean to say that.’ She shifted in embarrassment. But if their groans were ironic, hers was real. She really would have to stop being so bloody stubborn and take the full dose of painkillers. ‘This here report: shall we make a start on it?’

  Although by now everyone knew that Sean Murray had done a runner and crept back with his tail between his legs, neither Ed nor Ray knew any more than that.

  ‘The idiot,’ Ray grumbled. ‘If he’d come out and said he had a problem with the case, I can’t imagine you’d have chucked him under the chin and said, “There, there, diddums,” but I’m sure you’d have worked round the issue. After all, some of the grieving parents desperate for news might have been his own – the ones they say he’s disowned.’

  ‘And he might have had to visit other families who recognized him,’ Ed agreed. ‘Not easy.’

  ‘To be honest, I don’t know how I’d have handled it,’ she admitted. ‘I’d have gone ballistic, probably. Then, belatedly, sympathetic. I’d have asked to have him transferred to a case he could work on and brought someone else in with immediate effect. And yes, I suppose I’d have found someone to refer him so he could get professional help.’ There was no need to mention the time she and Tom, not to mention Wren himself, had spent tracking him. ‘And then I’d have questioned him as a suspect, I’m afraid.’ She explained. ‘So who’s in charge of the enquiry now? Don Simpson’s still on sick leave.’

  They looked genuinely shocked. ‘Won’t you be coming back?’

  ‘Not for at least a week. At the very least. Not until I’m off the painkillers. Maybe it was my being so irascible when I was in pain before that made Sean feel he couldn’t talk to me.’

  Ray shook his head. ‘Everyone knows your bark’s worse than your bite. I was terrified at the thought of working with you. I was only Acting DCI, for goodness’ sake! Still am, of course.’

  ‘The sooner they firm up that promotion the better,’ she said. ‘But I should have tried harder with him.’

  ‘With due respect, Fran,’ Ed put in, ‘as an outsider, I could see the graft you expect of yourself. Could you have done any more with the time and energy at your disposal? I wouldn’t have thought so.’

  At least he didn’t add, at your age. ‘Maybe I expected more of him than I should.’ She bit her lip like a guilty schoolgirl. ‘When I was on light duties after the first accident I sent him to a lot of meetings. He did a lot of running around while I couldn’t.’

  ‘And gained invaluable experience and contacts. No, Fran, if the man’s kept his secret for twenty-odd years, he’s not going to open up to someone he thinks could slow down his progress up the promotion ladder. Let the shrinks work their magic on him: see what they can do.’

  ‘And meanwhile his job and mine have to be done by people new to the case.’

  Ed got up and wandered over to the window. ‘It’s not your job to worry about that, Fran. And it’s not even ours, to be honest. I don’t know any cops at our level who don’t give a hundred and ten per cent. Now management asks us for a hundred and twenty, a hundred and thirty per cent – and we can’t do it. You were doing the work of – what – three people? You work for weeks in pain; you’re injured again.’

  ‘Not exactly in the line of duty,’ she protested. ‘I could have pulled a muscle anywhere – even on Mark’s beloved tennis court.’

  ‘But you wouldn’t have been playing tennis until you were fit. You were buzzing round like a blue-arsed fly and trying to stop Zac getting on to an unsafe building,’ Ray said. ‘Sorry,’ he said, checking his phone, ‘I’d better take this.’ He headed for the window.

  Fran smiled at Ed. ‘So from CEOP to Kent and Essex MIT. Or will it be Essex and Kent? I bet even now there are top-level meetings to decide,’ she said.

  ‘No takers,’ Ed said. ‘I may not go for it anyway. My partner wants kids, Fran – what good am I to her if I move her down here where she doesn’t know anyone only to find I’m spending my life on the M25? I might just stay where I am a few more years: CEOP is doing a vital job and I want to be part of it.’

  ‘The trouble is,’ she mused, ‘the better the job the unit’s doing, the more likely they are to axe it. Sod’s law.’

  Ray’s call over, the two men checked their watches and prepared to depart, promising to lock the door behind them and post the key through the lock. Fran had a terrible feeling that this wasn’t just sensible security for anyone in a house in such a remote location; she felt they were caring for Granny. After their short conversation about her sick leave, no one had mentioned her return. It was almost as if the two men thought she was never coming back.

  Mark had to be back at the rectory in order to admit Wren, who was paying a state visit, complete with driver. He did everything a host should, providing drinks and nibbles, and then, as he recognized the driver as Dizzy, let Fran deal with Wren on her own while he jogged down the steps to ask the young man how his cricket plans were proceeding. He was glad he had: Dizzy was leaving Kent on Friday, and heading up to Birmingham. He seemed to be realistic in his expectations, coming to the professional game comparatively late, but was full of a hope Mark found touching. But he was still a professional police officer, casting an anxious eye at his watch.

  ‘He’s cutting it fine, the guv’nor, isn’t he? He’s due at Maidstone West in less than half an hour, and though I’m happy doing a ton on a motorway, I don’t fancy my chances round these lanes.’

  ‘Maybe I’d better go and flush him out,’ Mark said without enthusiasm.

  But of
course, Wren was a clock-watcher. Though still talking to Fran, he was already standing at the living room door, ready to leave.

  Trying to acquit himself of eavesdropping – he was in his own home, after all – Mark paused. He couldn’t pick up all Fran said, but it was clear that what Wren would probably call an animated discussion was taking place. Wren’s voice took on a pleading note; Fran’s remained flatly implacable. Whatever he wanted her to do, she wasn’t going to be persuaded, was she?

  The voices got louder, clearer.

  ‘Look, Mr Wren, I’m happy to retire – I’ve done well over thirty years’ service after all – or to take redundancy. Whichever is better financially for your budget. But I can’t come back and continue the job – jobs – I’ve been doing. Not now. Not when both legs are fully healed, whenever that may be. Not ever. Is that clear?’

  Wren hadn’t finished. Mark was sure he made out the words, post of Assistant Chief Constable.

  But Fran hadn’t finished either. He picked up, ‘Put it in writing and I’ll give it due consideration.’

  Like a discreet butler, Mark coughed. Wren wheeled round. ‘Yes, Turner, what is it?’

  ‘Your driver tells me you’re likely to miss your train.’ He held open the front door, ironically. Or would Wren want Fran so much he’d stay and exercise his powers of persuasion?

  Wren turned tail and flew out.

  Fran was looking pensive when he came back into the living room. Pensive, speculative and – an expression he’d rarely seen recently – impish.

  ‘We always said that when we retired we’d make a point of having drinks on the terrace, didn’t we? Well, I feel like a glass of bubbly tonight. Out there. If it isn’t too much trouble for you to heave me on to that lounger we’ve never got round to using, and to swathe me in blankets if necessary.’