Falling into Crime

by Penny Grubb

  He shrugged. ‘Dunno. Silly cow was gone when I came out. I went for a beer on my own.’

  ‘I can tell.’ She set off again up the road. Let him follow or not as he chose.

  ‘I’m not chasing over town for her,’ he said, as he dropped in beside her.

  ‘Why? Don’t you want to marry her now?’

  ‘Oh sure, we’re gonna get married, but I’m not chasing after her all the time.’

  ‘Well, you should, you idiot, if she’s the one you want. I don’t want to be the reason you wrecked your life.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t you marry me, Annie?’

  ‘You know why. How drunk are you? You know full well we’d never have lasted five minutes.’

  ‘We could have tried. Why would you never come and meet my family? They thought it was strange. We’d been seeing each other for years.’

  ‘Scott, we’ve had all this out. It was never that serious. I’m not having this conversation. I’m going home.’ She snapped at him because he had a point. She could easily have gone to meet his family without committing herself to their relationship. The real reason was the unspoken assumption that he would then have had a right to come home with her, and she could never explain to him why no one could come to meet her family, because she couldn’t develop a lucid reason for herself.

  They walked in silence up the dark road. As they passed by the office where Annie spent much of her working days, he looked up at its windows, dark reflective eyes on to the city. ‘It must be a good view from up there.’

  ‘It’s crap. We look over the back.’

  He smiled. ‘We might have worked it out between us.’

  ‘Not in a million years.’ She spoke lightly, because he no longer seemed to be serious.

  ‘We had some good times.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s true.’

  ‘You don’t want me to walk all the way back with you, do you?’

  ‘No, I’m fine. You get on your way.’

  He smiled into her eyes and leant forward to kiss her goodbye. No harm in friends exchanging a brief embrace, she told herself, knowing it was nothing so innocent. His lips brushed her cheek, but she couldn’t have said which of them turned first to find the other’s mouth. She pressed her body on to his, as his tongue pushed its way against hers and his hands circled her waist to pull her closer.

  A passing thought for Kate – stupid cow, shouldn’t have run off like that in a pet if she wanted to keep them apart. And anyway, Annie didn’t want Kate’s man in any permanent sense, she just needed to keep clear of him when they’d both been drinking because sex was the one area where they were a perfect match. And it was hard to turn down a really satisfying conclusion to the weekend.

  They were in the shelter of the office doorway now, her hands under his shirt, fingers slipping inside the waistband of his trousers. She felt him pull the material of her T-shirt out of the way so his hands could feel her skin.

  ‘Wait. Not here.’ She scrabbled in her bag for her keys. The street was quiet, but not that quiet and there was an empty office above them.

  Once upstairs, he pulled her to him, kissing her uncomfortably hard almost as though to punish her for what was more his indiscretion than hers. She put her hands under his shirt and ripped it open, feeling at least one button fly adrift. Would the petulant Kate be the one to sew it on again?

  She twisted free of his lips and ducked her head, snaking her tongue down his naked chest and over his belly, feeling him shudder as his hands found the sides of her head and gripped hard as though to suffocate her against his flesh. This must be the last time they did this, and because of that she vowed to make it count.

  Afterwards, they lay on the floor, semi naked still, clothes and papers strewn around them, fingers entwined but otherwise not touching. Annie felt the cool breeze cut across the drying sweat on her skin and laughed softly.

  Scott half turned his head, smiled. ‘What is it?’

  ‘If this floor was carpeted I might fall asleep. I was imagining Pat walking in on us tomorrow morning.’

  ‘She never did like me much.’

  ‘She wouldn’t be overjoyed with me. I– Shh, what’s that?’ She stopped; her laughter smothered by the click of the latch downstairs.

  She and Scott exchanged a glance, but she held up her hand to signal that he must keep quiet. Sound raced through this old building, especially at night.

  The clatter of someone moving about was unmistakeable. Annie turned to Scott. ‘It’s Pat,’ she mouthed. ‘Quiet.’

  Pat’s lumbering tread was not yet on the stairs. Whatever she was here for, she had things to do in the shared lobby first. Priority was to get all trace of her and Scott out of the main office. They could crouch in the back while Pat came in and did whatever she’d come to do.

  With as much speed as was consistent with absolute quiet, Scott bundled up their discarded clothes and Annie lifted the fallen papers back on to the desk.

  Again, she stopped to listen. Movement from downstairs but as yet no one coming up. Could it be someone from one of the downstairs offices? But Pat’s heavy tread was unmistakable.

  They stood frozen, Annie not wanting to risk creeping across squeaky floorboards to the back office unless they had to. Scott, their clothes balled in his arms, waiting for her lead.

  Again the heavy tramp of footsteps. And then the click of the latch.

  Annie put a finger to her lips, and tiptoed carefully towards the door. Was Pat leaving or was someone else coming in?

  Leaving.

  Annie ran lightly down the stairs to the halfway point to strain to see out through the frosted pane with its eerie reflection of the outside door.

  She saw Pat’s rear view lumbering away and formed the thought that the distortion of the glass took several stone off her, before realizing that it wasn’t Pat at all.

  Scott appeared at the top of the stairs.

  ‘It’s OK,’ she whispered. ‘It was Barbara, but she’s gone. I’m just going to see what she was doing.’

  ‘Here.’ He threw her clothes down to her.

  She stopped to pull on her jeans as she looked round the lobby. What on earth had Barbara been up to?

  Scott was downstairs beside her now. ‘So why was she here?’

  ‘She must have been putting something in the post, but heaven knows why it couldn’t have waited till tomorrow. It won’t go till then, anyway.’ Annie looked at the envelope in the tray, but didn’t take it out, not wanting to let Scott into any secrets. ‘You should get away home, Scott. I’m going to stay behind and make sure it’s all ship-shape upstairs.’

  He protested a bit and offered to walk her back, but it took little persuasion to get him to leave her.

  ‘Just tell me, Annie, I’m curious, that’s all. Why wouldn’t you let me meet your father? Were you ashamed of me?’

  ‘Of course not. What a silly thing to say.’

  ‘Well, are you ashamed of him?’

  ‘No. You’re being stupid. Argyll’s a long way to go. I don’t see much of him, anyway. It’s just hassle, that’s all.’

  ‘Yeah, all right.’ He raised his hands in mock surrender. ‘You take care getting home.’

  This time they exchanged a chaste kiss that anyone could have witnessed and he went out into the night.

  Before Annie returned upstairs, she went back to the post trays.

  Barbara didn’t come in on Mondays ever, so she would normally have given a letter to Pat for posting. But Pat wouldn’t dream of taking the two metre diversion to put it in the tray before she came upstairs. She would carry it up and give it to Annie. Thus, Annie would get to see who Barbara was writing to.

  She lifted the letter free and squinted at it in the dim light from the streetlamps outside, curious to see what Barbara had wanted to hide from her. She recognized the address. It looked like Barbara had taken her advice and written for a copy of that document. Thank heavens for that at any rate, but why hadn’t she just slapped on a stamp and put
it in a post-box? Maybe she wanted it franked as coming from the office.

  Upstairs she made sure there was no trace left of her encounter with Scott. All this harping on about family, she thought irritably. Like everyone had to play happy families just because he did.

  She could ignore him like she always had, except she knew there was something in what he’d said. She should devote some time to repairing the breach in her family. Well, maybe one day, but not now.

  Chapter 7

  Annie couldn’t stop herself rushing in far too early on Monday morning just in case she’d left any trace of the previous night’s activity. Because that left her on her own, she nipped downstairs, pulled Barbara’s letter out of the post tray and opened it. Then she felt ashamed because Barbara had not made a hash of it, but had written a good and tight request for the information, as good a job as Annie could have made of it. She re-sealed the envelope but would suffer agonies until the post was collected in case Barbara herself should come in and see it had been tampered with.

  Why the clandestine late-night visit? It was possible she just happened to be passing, but unlikely.

  At last, Pat’s heavy step sounded on the stairs and Annie listened intently to hear how it was different from Barbara’s. They couldn’t sound the same; Pat had the weight advantage by many kilos, but twice now Annie had mistaken them.

  ‘Paperwork to get straight today,’ Pat said as she pushed through the door. ‘Any messages?’

  ‘No. Were you expecting anything in particular?’

  ‘Why would I be expecting anything in particular? I was only asking.’ Pat barked out a sharp laugh as she spoke and Annie looked at her surprised. What was that about?

  ‘I have the case files out.’

  ‘Let’s hope we get a clear run at it. It’s to be done before we leave tonight, no matter how late that makes us.’

  ‘Jennifer’s coming round for a meal tonight. I’d like to be away in time to cook.’

  Pat laughed loudly. ‘Yeah, right. How long can it take to heat a tin of beans?’

  ‘Scoff all you like. I might have been going to cook something. I’ll surprise you one of these days. She is coming round though so let’s try and finish at a reasonable hour.’

  ‘Suits me. I’m off out too.’

  ‘Yeah? Where’re you going?’

  ‘Pole-dancing classes.’ Pat surrendered to another burst of hilarity and added, ‘It’s as likely as you cooking.’

  The papers were a tangled mess, but they cleared all the desk space and gradually pulled together what was needed to pass on to the client’s legal team. Their part of the job was done. It was up to the courts now.

  It was just on six o’clock when everything was packed away.

  Annie hurried back to the flat to prepare for Jennifer’s arrival. Ridiculous to feel this rush of apprehension, especially that it was connected less to the information she wanted to prise from her friend than to the challenge of persuading her that she could cook.

  Almost an hour. It should be enough time. The honey mustard chicken needed nine minutes in the microwave, the garlic bread ten in the oven. As soon as she reached home, Annie turned on the oven to heat up and then tugged the box out of the freezer compartment, bringing a shower of ice crystals and a small avalanche of frozen peas that bounced across the floor. She put the box unopened on the surface by the sink. The garlic bread could go straight on an oven shelf and the honey mustard chicken would cook in its own dish, but what about serving it?

  She spun round in the small kitchen. Somewhere in here there had to be a large enough receptacle. When had she last used anything like that? Of course! With a crow of triumph, she leant across the sink to the crowded window sill. Under the clutter was a beautiful, shimmery-blue, oval plate that she used to store oddments. She upended it into the sink, looking with some dismay at the array of artefacts that poured out. Paperclips, batteries, pencil stubs, her driving licence and rental agreement, a serrated metal disk that she couldn’t identify. She scooped everything out into a supermarket carrier bag and hung it on the back of the door.

  The blue dish, now empty, looked an unlikely vessel for food. Grime covered the base; a strange stain discoloured it in an untidy gash. Annie wondered if poison from the batteries might have seeped through the surface of the material. She let hot water into the sink and smothered the dish in washing-up liquid. Relentless scrubbing buffed it up nicely round the edges, the bits that would show, and she let the ache in her arm convince her that anything the dish might leak out must have been removed.

  She carried cutlery to the table only to find it cluttered with magazines and papers and, now she looked at the surface, thick with dust. Clearing and cleaning left her flattened and with a sweat starting to form, almost as though she’d been out for a run.

  Three minutes to go. She shot back to the kitchen and shoved the garlic bread into the oven, swearing as her finger brushed the hot shelf, then ripped the packaging off the honey mustard chicken, racing through a last read of the instructions, before ramming the giveaway outer paper with its succulent picture into the bin. A few stabs with a fork pierced the film lid and the microwave began to work its magic.

  Just time to grab a glass for the pink wine and a tumbler for her beer before the doorbell chimed.

  ‘Wow,’ said Jennifer. ‘Something smells good.’

  ‘I thought I’d push the boat out for once. Come and have a drink. What’s with the gaol thing, anything serious?’

  ‘More of the usual really. Hints of a breakout plan, but with it being high security, they don’t take chances.’

  ‘It sounds such an old-fashioned crime, a gaol break.’

  ‘Happens all the time, though. Not usually high profile stuff, but there are some high risk guys in Hull.’

  It suited Annie perfectly to have Jen so relaxed. It was a real measure of the trust there was between them that Jen treated her more like a colleague these days than someone to be ultra cautious around.

  A loud ping from the kitchen signalled that the honey mustard chicken was ready.

  ‘The oven timer,’ murmured Annie. ‘Help yourself to another drink. I’ll go and dish up.’

  Manhandling the hot food out of the microwave with a tea towel to protect her hands gave Annie the idea of carrying it through in the blue dish using the towel as though it had come this way straight from the oven.

  Jennifer stared and then laughed. ‘It looks good, Annie. When did you learn to cook?’

  Annie waved the comment aside, saying, ‘Help yourself,’ as she placed the dish and returned for the bread. Instinct said to go straight for the point while Jennifer was in this relaxed mood so as soon as she was seated, she said, ‘Jen, I need some info for the business with Nicole Perks. Brittany Booth is spreading rumours that Michael Walker was reported for child abuse six years ago. Do you know anything about it?’

  Jennifer paused and reached forward for a piece of garlic bread which she turned in her hand before nodding slowly. ‘Yes, I do.’ She broke the crust from the bread and dipped it in the sauce on her plate without looking up.

  They both knew she had crossed a line.

  ‘I heard the rumour and I asked around.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘For starters, none of this is coming from me. That’s understood, isn’t it?’

  Annie nodded.

  ‘Yes, there was a complaint. It wasn’t specific, but it was looked into. There was nothing in it.’

  ‘What was it, an anonymous note type thing?’

  ‘I don’t know how it was first reported. It was all before my time. You should ask Scott. He’d know more. That’s if you’re on speaking terms at the moment. I never know with you two.’

  Annie laughed uncomfortably. ‘Kind of. But is there anything you can tell me about what they looked into, what enquiries were made, that sort of thing?’

  ‘May I get more sauce?’ Jennifer indicated the dish and anticipated Annie’s affirmative by pulling it toward
s her as she spoke.

  ‘Mind it isn’t hot,’ Annie said, instinctively still playing cook.

  Jennifer threw back her head and laughed. ‘Come off it, Annie. It’s delicious, but I’ll lay money you didn’t cook it yourself. And even if you did, it sure as hell wasn’t in this dish.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘It’s plastic, you idiot. You gave the game away when you carried it in with a tea towel. Microwave?’

  ‘I did the garlic bread in the oven,’ Annie countered.

  Annie raised her fork to her lips. Jennifer was right. The honey mustard sauce both smelt and tasted delicious. She’d overplayed her hand. No way could she have created this from scratch.

  ‘I asked what they’d done,’ Jennifer went on, ‘when they had the complaint in. Of course I did, with the timing of it, Soham and all that. They found nothing against Michael, but they thought the person who reported him probably held a grudge.’

  ‘They knew who reported him?’ Annie clocked Jennifer’s use of Michael Walker’s first name, almost as though she’d known him, but pushed it aside in her surprise that the complainant might not be anonymous.

  ‘Oh yes, they knew. It was a woman called Donna Lambit.’

  Jennifer looked up, her gaze meeting Annie’s as she took another mouthful of chicken.

  ‘Who?’ The name meant nothing to her.

  ‘She went back to her maiden name when she divorced. Her married name was Liversedge.’

  Annie felt her eyebrows lift in surprise. Liversedge was Charlotte’s name. Michael Walker’s partner. The one who’d found him dead after Yates’s attack. She looked the question at Jennifer.

  ‘Michael had just moved in with Charlotte at the time. Donna Lambit is her mother.’

  ‘Charlotte Liversedge’s mother reported Michael Walker to the police six years ago?’ Annie sat completely still, trying to fit this piece into the jigsaw. Nicole Perks had been so certain there was nothing in the complaint story. Annie said this to Jennifer.

  ‘I know. I couldn’t tell her. I presumed Charlotte had her own reasons for keeping it quiet. I mean, wouldn’t you keep quiet if your mother had done something like that?’