Falling into Crime

by Penny Grubb

  Eliza had squinted at the fire for a long time before finally saying, ‘Yes, and I’ll have a cigar, but douse that fire first. It’s all burnt, isn’t it? The smoke’s getting on my chest.’

  Annie had pulled the bag towards her and splashed water from the bottle carefully on to the red embers.

  The ice in the flask had been watery, but with a few lumps still intact. Annie had scooped them out into Eliza’s cup and splashed brandy on top. The old woman sat back in her wheelchair and drew deeply on the cigar. She’d coughed, but it had been with a contented smile she’d raised the cup to her lips.

  Sitting here now in the pub with the bustle of evening life beginning to grow and the history of the old whaling industry looking down from the walls, Annie wondered if she’d been right to carry out Eliza’s wishes. Almost a century ago, May’s father might have sat where she sat now. Eliza’s too. Their faces could be amongst those smiling out from the old photographs. She could almost hear the shouts and commotion of the whalers docking just across the way; feel the jostling crowd and bonhomie of the men bringing in a boat with a good catch; the tight-knit jawbone gang celebrating its safe homecoming with a glass of ale at the Whalebone, then breaking up to stride home to waiting families.

  Something about the weight of the secret had got to her. May had carried it all her life, finding Eliza again at almost the final hour. What had made Eliza hold on to the papers, beyond her vague mention of ‘not getting round to it’? Whatever it was, Eliza must have been tormented by thoughts she would go to her grave and leave it for others to find.

  Annie had cleared the remains of the fire, put things back in the bag, carried out a makeshift repair to the chain that held the alarm. She recalled the look on Eliza’s face as she’d savoured the good brandy and pulled in the smoke from the cigar. It had been contentment: a woman relaxing into the comfort of a promise fulfilled.

  Too late for regrets, though she wasn’t sure she had any. The papers were fragments of ash melting into the fabric of that big garden.

  Just one thing she would like to confirm. She pulled out her phone and clicked in Donna’s number.

  ‘Sorry to call so late,’ she said, with no attempt to inject sincerity into her apology. ‘I want you to tell me what happened when you told May you had to have her locked box.’

  She listened to Donna’s attempt to bluster, but cut her short.

  ‘Oh yes, you can remember. Now, listen to me carefully. You were alone with May in the house; you’d searched for the box and it was gone.’ Annie hardened her tone. ‘I have no doubt you threatened her, Mrs Lambit, but right now I don’t care about that. What I want to know is what May said back to you. Her exact words.’

  The phone remained silent, but Annie knew Donna wouldn’t cut her off. After a moment, she heard a throat-clearing and then the answer to her question. ‘She said, “The box is for Charlotte.”’

  ‘And those were her exact words? You’re absolutely sure? Repeat the conversation to me.’

  Annie felt the fear leak down the phone as Donna’s assurances tumbled out. But she didn’t need them. She was satisfied Donna had told her the truth.

  She ended the call, allowed herself a deep sigh that was a mix of exasperation and anger, then she stood up and tipped the remains of her beer down her throat.

  As she left the pub, she cradled her phone in her hand. Ron Long was due a call too, though she had still to work out what line to take. To force herself into a decision, she rang him. The call was answered at once.

  ‘At last! What have you got for me?’

  ‘Come to the office on Monday morning. Ten-ish. I can’t talk now.’

  ‘We’ll be there, but just tell me–’

  She clicked off the phone with a sudden stab of annoyance that wasn’t aimed at Ron Long but at herself. The blasted horse woman needed a call too, but this was the worst time to try. She would almost certainly be in. The minute she arrived home, Annie determined to red-pin that letter to the cork board.

  Chapter 28

  The next morning, Annie climbed the stairs to the office, turning over in her mind what she would say to Ron Long. Either she disrupted his plans to come to the area, or she reported him officially. The latter went against the grain, not quite malpractice, but not the way to operate, a bit like the tightrope of running with both Nicole Perks and Brittany Booth.

  Barbara was at the desk, her face screwed up in concentration as she peered at the screen in front of her and pecked at the keyboard. She paused to give Annie a hard stare. Then, jerking her thumb over her shoulder indicating the back office, she said, ‘Visitor for you.’

  ‘The Longs? They’re not due for an hour.’

  ‘No, the law.’

  Puzzled, Annie pushed open the door to the back room to see Scott, oblivious to her presence, rapt in some paperwork on top of one of the filing cabinets. He jumped round as she spoke his name. Her gaze darted across to see what he’d been reading. Trust Barbara to leave him in here unattended.

  She relaxed a little when she saw he’d been engrossed in an article in PI Magazine. It would embarrass him to be caught reading that.

  He was wearing jeans, so it wasn’t an official call.

  She looked him over. He was nice enough and they’d had some fun over the years, but how much better if he’d never been more than a useful work contact? Too late for those sorts of thoughts.

  ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘Annie, we have to get things straight between us.’

  For a second, she felt irritation that he should think her the one needing to get things straight. Then it dawned on her. ‘Let me guess,’ she said. ‘You’ve been told to choose between me and Kate. And you’ve come to tell me you’ve chosen Kate.’

  ‘Kate and I had a long talk.’ Scott’s tone was snappish. It had been tactless to imply he was under orders.

  ‘Scott, this really isn’t a problem. We gave each other up a long time ago. What happened the other night was just … well, we should probably avoid being alone together when we’ve been drinking. But it didn’t mean anything. You know it didn’t. I hope it works out for you and Kate. I really do.’

  ‘We’ve worked well together over the years, Annie. I don’t want to give that up.’

  ‘I don’t have a problem with keeping it on a professional basis, but are you sure Kate can live with that?’

  His gaze flicked away, and Annie assumed he’d had an earful about discussing Kate with her. She pointed to the article he’d been reading when she came in; an interview with an investigator who’d relocated from London to New Jersey. ‘Interesting ideas there. What did you think?’

  She saw him waver on the edge of pretending not to know what she was talking about, but then he shrugged and said, ‘Have you ever thought of working in the US?’

  ‘It would be a whole different ball game.’ She almost confided that she was leaving Pat and Barbara, leaving the area, just as soon as she’d tied a few loose ends. How much easier would that make things for him with Kate? But it was the thought of Kate that stopped her. She could trust Scott not to say anything to the sisters, but he would tell Kate, and Annie didn’t trust Kate not to come hotfoot to the office to make things as uncomfortable as she possibly could.

  Annie wondered what else he’d come to say, but knew better than to ask outright. They chatted for a while, going over old ground, safe ground. Theories of how and when state investigation should interact with private … the differing perceptions of each profession in different countries.

  Scott glanced at his watch. ‘I should be going.’

  As Annie moved towards the door, he added, ‘Just one other thing.’

  She turned back to hear what he’d really come for.

  ‘You know what we came to ask about the other day. Guy new in the area … rumoured to have gone to a private investigator?’

  Ah, so that was it. He’d come to try a softly-softly approach to counter Kate’s bulldozer tactics. ‘What would this g
uy have gone to a PI for?’ she asked him.

  ‘Sorry, I don’t know. Probably nothing to interest us. It’s him we’re looking for.’

  ‘Do you have a name?’

  ‘No. We have very little to suggest he exists at all, but…’

  Annie heard the sentence fade. It was too soon to hand him Ron Long, and all she had was speculation. It wasn’t her business. She needed to know more.

  ‘Do you mean new to the area and here to stay, or just on a flying visit?’

  Scott watched her closely now. ‘Oh, if he’s for real, then it’s a flying visit.’

  ‘OK, so what would happen if – just for sake of argument – the person who might not exist just faded away as though he really didn’t exist? What would be the effect of that?’

  Scott spoke slowly. Annie could feel the intensity of his gaze. ‘That would be useful. Very useful. It would drive a coach and horses through certain other parties’ plans.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll keep all that in mind.’

  ‘Annie, listen, do you know anything that I should know?’

  The Longs had first come to her just ten days ago, with their absurd tale of checking out a holiday home, and desperate to stay below the official radar. She had nothing on them, just an instinctive certainty that they were the ones Scott was after.

  She thought of Yates with his sharpened knife and his certainty about Michael Walker.

  Looking Scott in the eye, she said, ‘Not yet.’

  The Longs were due within the hour. She needed the time between now and when they arrived to get some paperwork ready. Scott had crystallized in her mind what her strategy would be. Would she need him? It depended on how Ron Long reacted.

  ‘If I’m going to have anything for you,’ she told Scott. ‘It’s going to be soon.’ She looked him up and down. Trainers, jeans, T-shirt, casual jacket. He wasn’t on his way to work. ‘Which might mean within the hour, but you’re not on duty.’

  ‘I’ll be around if you need me.’

  Chapter 29

  After Scott had left, Annie settled herself in the big office at one of the PCs. She and Barbara ignored each other as they clicked at their keyboards. Annie assumed Barbara was working on the Mellors’ case, and if she couldn’t make something big out of the information she’d had on a plate last Friday, there was no hope for her.

  She turned her mind to her own case as she pulled up on the screen the thumbnails of the photographs she’d taken at the Morgans’ and picked out the ones she wanted. They didn’t need much work. She didn’t bother with Photoshop, just clicked on the crop tool and trimmed the edges, making sure that the set she readied for printing showed the bits she wanted them to show and nothing else.

  Barbara left after half an hour. They hadn’t spoken since the brief exchange when Annie arrived.

  The Longs turned up ten minutes early, but Annie was ready.

  ‘Hello. Come in. Take a seat.’

  Sheryl looked drawn and tired; Ron irritable. He wanted Annie’s verdict so he could get on with his plans. Neither of them doubted that Annie would say what Ron wanted to hear. She waited until they were settled in their chairs.

  ‘You need a change of plan,’ she said to Ron. ‘Your wife was nearer the mark than you realized.’

  Ron laughed; his tone a mix of incredulity and uncertainty. ‘What are you talking about, change of plan?’

  ‘You need to holiday somewhere else.’

  ‘Oh thank God! Ron, listen to her. I knew–’

  ‘Shut up,’ he barked at his wife. Then to Annie, ‘What are you talking about? Are you mad?’

  Annie slipped a photograph across the desk. ‘Does that look familiar?’

  ‘Yes!’ Sheryl pounced on it. ‘Look, Ron. That’s the wheelbarrow we saw. It is, isn’t it, Ron? You can’t deny it.’

  ‘I’m not denying it,’ he snapped, throwing a glance at the photograph that showed the lower half of the barrow: wheels, handles, enough of the tray to show its battered paintwork. ‘I’m not changing my plans for a goddamned wheelbarrow.’ He glared at Annie. ‘All right, what was in it?’

  Annie pushed the next photograph across.

  Sheryl gasped in a breath and clapped her hand to her mouth. Even Ron blanched and drew back.

  She had cut away the part of the picture that showed the crumbling limbs and gave clues to the great age of the remains. The gash to the back of skull caused by Tracey Morgan’s shovel gaped up starkly from the print.

  ‘But what …? How …?’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ve done all I need to do. No one can have a peaceful holiday in an area crawling with police and forensics teams.’ The words themselves weren’t quite a lie. The implication behind them was. She saw Ron Long draw the inference she intended.

  ‘But this will ruin everything,’ he blurted out.

  ‘Ruin what?’ asked Annie. ‘You can holiday somewhere else.’

  ‘No, you see–’

  ‘Shut up, Sheryl.’

  As the Longs glared at each other, Annie, her phone held below the level of the desk, sent a text to Scott.

  Arrive now, routine visit.

  ‘This is all your doing, Sheryl,’ Ron scolded his wife. ‘If you hadn’t made such a fuss and insisted we come here …’

  ‘That’s not fair, Ron. We could have been murdered in our beds.’

  Ron swung round to Annie. ‘Are you saying those people committed murder? But why? Who are they? Who did they kill?’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t say.’

  ‘Dammit, woman, I’ve paid you to say. I want a full report on this job.’

  ‘You wanted to know if your wife’s fears were groundless or not. I’m afraid we made no commitment to divulge any further information.’

  ‘I suppose it’s more money you’re after.’ He heaved an exaggerated sigh and reached for the pocket inside his jacket.

  Annie allowed her expression to become a little more steely. ‘You realize that if one of our cases becomes a police investigation, we have to back off. More than that, they expect us to hand over our files.’

  Ron held her gaze, his expression unchanging, but in her peripheral vision Annie saw Sheryl’s eyes widen in alarm.

  ‘And do you?’ Ron said.

  Annie heard the click of the outer door downstairs. Perfect timing. She answered Ron Long. ‘Not always. Not everything.’

  Footsteps sounded up the stairs, but not Scott’s. And that quick, light tread certainly wasn’t one of the sisters.

  The door opened and Kate Ronsen walked in.

  Annie’s heart sank. She struggled not to show her feelings. Oh, Scott, she thought, did you have to use this one to prove yourself to her? Kate would go in heavy-handed for sure. For a moment Annie considered just handing her the Longs on a plate. After all, what did she care? She was out of here soon anyway.

  But she did care. It was important to deal with things properly. She had no option but to play the situation just as she would if it was Scott who had walked in.

  She smiled up at Kate. ‘DC Ronsen, this is a surprise. I wasn’t expecting you.’

  ‘Routine visit,’ Kate rapped out, as her gaze flicked briefly to Sheryl’s nails, then snapped across to look Ron Long up and down. Annie felt her fists clench as she willed Kate to get it right. Kate’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, but she said, ‘If you’re busy, I can wait.’

  Annie blew out a breath. Scott had rehearsed her in her lines.

  ‘Oh, is it the prison thing?’ she responded, with a smile. ‘I think we were about finished here.’ She looked Ron in the eye. ‘Did you want to make an appointment to come back?’

  Neither Ron nor Sheryl moved, but the tension was palpable. After a pause, he said, ‘I don’t think there’s anything you can do for us. Come on … it’s time we were on our way.’

  Annie clocked the slight trip in his words where he avoided calling Sheryl by name.

  ‘Then I won’t open a file,’ she said. ‘And that’ll be the end of it.’
>
  She opened the door for them to hurry out, and watched as they clattered down the stairs, her gaze tracking Sheryl’s fingers down the handrail. Too memorable, Sheryl, she wanted to shout after her. It’s the little things that catch people out in the end. She returned to the office.

  Relieved of the presence of the Longs, Annie looked at Kate properly. She wore a severe red suit, dressed for battle, but then she had stuck to the script, however little she’d enjoyed doing it.

  ‘Thanks,’ Annie said. ‘I’m sure that’s the last either of us will see of them.’

  ‘But who were they? What did they want with you? Where’s your file? How much do you have on them?’

  Completely off script now, but Annie had allowed for this in her parting shot to the Longs.

  ‘You heard me. I said I wouldn’t open a file. We don’t until the punter signs up. We can’t do business unless we’re sure of paying customers. It’s not like being in your game.’ Again, Annie formed sentences that could stand alone as the absolute truth. Not her fault if Kate put them together and assumed this was the Longs’ first visit.

  ‘But you got their names?’

  ‘If people don’t volunteer stuff about themselves, we don’t insist on it, not until we sign them up.’

  ‘Then how are we to find them? I should have arrested him while he was here.’

  ‘What for? What’s he involved in?’

  ‘That’s not your business. But thanks to you, he’s still going to cause us trouble.’

  ‘Is he? All I know is that you don’t want this guy in the area, so I’ve made sure he isn’t going to stay. I’m not here to package people up and hand them over. That’s not my job. How much business do you think we’d get if we worked like that? I have no evidence he’s involved in criminal activity.’

  ‘We have!’

  ‘Then maybe you should have arrested him.’

  Kate gave an annoyed shake of her head and Annie knew she didn’t have a thing on Ron Long. From the bits and pieces she’d gleaned from Scott and Jen, she surmised that Ron was a key part of someone’s plan, presumably to do with this high profile gaolbreak she’d heard about, but he’d done nothing yet. Hell, they didn’t even know who he was. Until now, they hadn’t been certain he existed. But with her hints about police crawling all over the area that he was so interested in, he would be off. If she was to put money on his whereabouts at this moment, she would guess him and his wife to be in their van westbound along the Clive Sullivan Way heading for the M62.