Falling into Crime

by Penny Grubb

The last time she’d seen Beth had been in the gloom of the house under the trees. Beth had been urging her out the back way because she’d seen someone coming. The someone had turned out to be Jak and it was all too true that he’d been keen to find her. Was that what she’d meant?

  Morning brought the unwelcome news that her road tax was due. The MoT test would be hot on its heels and the insurance soon after that.

  She decided on the spot. It was absurd for her to run a car in London. If she needed transport for work, then she could borrow from Pieternel or Dean; meanwhile her car was going under wraps.

  As she drove across town to her rented lock-up, she thought about Charlotte. A trip to Scotland to try to find the spot Lorraine had described, where she’d supposedly met Charlotte’s sister, Julia. Something had worried her. She’d called Margot. Annie had heard the call, but Margot never got the message. It was odd … like they’d listened for a while, then deliberately cut me off.

  Rank air rolled out to meet her as she heaved open the door to the lock up. A pile of boxes had to be pushed aside, reminding her of Dish and his sordid bedsit. She had still to email her father about that. She made room for the car and drove it in, patting the roof as she squeezed back out, an apology to the vehicle that had taken her so many miles, that she must leave it in this dark and cramped space.

  An hour later, she walked down from Oxford Circus, pausing for a moment outside a coffee shop opposite the entrance to the building where Margot housed her empire. She took a moment to compose herself, then went across the road.

  A counter along the side of the entrance lobby policed access to the firms in the building, although it didn’t physically block the way. A notice said, ‘Please switch your mobile to silent mode, thank you’. Hers was already off.

  Force of habit had her strolling towards the lifts, bypassing the desk, putting the security to the test. A woman in a neat uniform glanced at her as she went past, then turned away. High profile security, but lax. Lifts in easy reach, she noted, but no obvious route to the main stairwell; its access point guarded behind the sweep of the long desk. However, there was a fire door, tucked away in a corner that must provide access from a minor staircase. Locked from this side, it would provide a way out. Margot kept personal information on her wealthy clients, rich pickings for blackmail. The building’s security should be better than this.

  The lift took her to the fourth floor where she stepped out into deep carpet. Further down the corridor were the entrances to the two big offices, though the lift doors themselves were not in the direct line of sight of anyone working in there.

  She found Margot’s PA, Janice, at her desk.

  ‘Good morning. Can I help you?’ Janice gave her a smooth, professional welcome prior to a minor double take. ‘It’s Annie, isn’t it? How nice to see you. Is Margot expecting you?’

  ‘Well, no, but she said to drop in. We spoke on the phone a few days ago about one of your ex-employees. I wondered if I might have a word.’

  ‘Ah yes, Charlotte Grainger. I looked out her record. She was barely with us a couple of weeks. Cover for someone who was ill. Take a seat. I’ll see if Margot’s free.’ Janice jabbed at an intercom and murmured into it.

  A moment later, she stood up and signalled Annie to follow.

  Margot’s private office was all she expected. Deep carpet, large expanse of gleaming desk top, huge windows overlooking the city, a larger floor space than the whole of the cramped operation she’d left behind. Towards one end was a low coffee table with comfortable chairs that Janice ushered her to. Margot stood up from behind her desk looking not so very different from the last time they’d met. Annie took in the slightly stockier figure, the neatly sculptured hair, the exclusive suit and felt that even the Margot jacket would have wilted under the brilliance of this assault.

  ‘I was passing, but if you’re busy …’

  ‘Always time for an old friend, Annie. Give me a minute to finish an email.’ The words were pleasant enough, but Annie wasn’t fooled. Margot would put herself out because Annie had something she wanted, presumably information on Charlotte.

  Within minutes, a young woman entered bearing a tray. The smell of fresh coffee had Annie sniffing the air appreciatively as the tall pot, bone china cups with saucers and plate of luxury chocolate biscuits was set on the low table.

  Margot strolled over from her desk and arranged herself in one of the armchairs.

  ‘So Mrs Grainger won’t be back with us. Did she mention that she wouldn’t have been back anyway? She’d finished her stint. Resigned early, in fact.’

  ‘No, she didn’t. Janice told me she’d looked out her records. Anything of interest?’

  Margot’s eyebrows rose a notch, her voice diamond-edged. ‘I’ll say. Did she tell you how she came to be with us in the first place?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘One of our staff was mugged, had her arm broken. Our temp agency sent us your Mrs Grainger.’

  ‘She’s not mine,’ Annie murmured. ‘What was the problem?’

  ‘Nothing on the face of it. She had the exact experience we were looking for, which was unusual, it’s a specialized post. She came; she was here just over a week and then didn’t turn up one morning. She sent a message saying she couldn’t come in any more, personal problems, so we got someone else. End of story until your aunt rang. Janice looked out her record. And the woman she’d replaced, who’s back now, went ballistic when she saw the photo on the file. Mrs Grainger was the mugger.’

  ‘Charlotte! What are you saying? She did that to get a job here?’

  ‘We checked with the agency. Your Mrs Grainger turned up the day before the mugging and registered herself with a perfect-match CV. They’d had no time to do any checks when we called in and it wasn’t the high-risk sort of post that needs positive clearance so they sent her along.’

  ‘You said her work was OK. How did she manage if it was a specialized post?’

  ‘She blagged it for a week until she got at what she wanted, I presume.’

  ‘Which was a set of audio tapes.’

  ‘That’s right. What do you know about them?’

  Annie pulled the package from her pocket and handed it over. ‘She left them at the guesthouse.’

  ‘Have you listened to them?’

  ‘Not all through. I just wanted to see what they were so I knew what to do with them.’

  Margot unwrapped the packet and turned the tapes to catch the light. ‘Does your father know about them?’

  ‘My father? No, why should he? What’s it to do with him?’

  ‘You know what a stickler he is. I want to deal with this myself, not have some country cop putting in a report and making all sorts of waves. And don’t look at me like that. It’s nothing I can’t sort.’

  ‘I’d like to be sure of that, Margot. There’s some weird stuff on that tape and it turns out Charlotte was asking questions about that leg that was fished out of the loch near my dad’s.’

  ‘I don’t give a damn what’s on the tape. It’ll be something someone can blackmail someone else with. That’s the nub of it. OK, listen, this is strictly in confidence. It’s one of our franchises. I’ve had some doubts for a while, but they make us a lot of money …’

  ‘So you didn’t want to look too closely.’

  ‘More coffee?’

  Annie pushed forward her cup. Margot’s blackmail theory wasn’t a comfortable fit. The story on the tape was the murder – or fake death – of the blackmailer, depending on how the pieces of Charlotte’s story fitted together. Or maybe Lorraine’s later account was the real story and it was all drug-induced hallucination.

  ‘So what are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m treading softly. That’s why I need you to keep quiet. I want to ditch that outfit, but it isn’t something I can just do at the drop of a hat. For one thing, I don’t want it causing any ripples with our security firm.’

  ‘Why would it?’

  Margot pulled a face. ‘They w
ere the ones who recommended them. And they’re good. Very good for the money. They do a lot for us. I don’t want to lose them.’

  Annie thought about the security she’d seen. High profile, fancy bells and whistles, but she could drive a coach through it if she had to. That was Margot’s problem, not hers, though it occurred to her there might be some work to be had.

  ‘I could make a few enquiries with the agency that hired Charlotte? Which was it?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Annie. I can’t have you ferreting about there. We have a good relationship with them, recent events notwithstanding. I can’t let you go in with your size nines.’

  ‘I’d be very discreet.’

  ‘I’m sure you would, but I’ve no intention of employing you to go snooping.’

  ‘If it’s some other outfit, why do you have their tapes?’

  ‘We have legal ties, responsibilities. More hassle, but more money. And they use our consulting rooms. Everything’s recorded. It’s all kept under lock and key, of course. It’s sensitive stuff, but we have to keep it. Can’t risk being sued, and people will pounce on anything these days.’

  ‘Can’t you get sued for keeping confidential data like that?’

  ‘People sign forms,’ Margot said, vaguely. ‘And anyway we don’t keep it long. Those tapes would have been destroyed if that woman hadn’t taken them. They’ll be ashes in the basement furnace before you’ve left the building.’

  ‘Margot, you can’t do that. They’re evidence.’

  ‘Of what? That a dead woman stole confidential data? I don’t want to headline that, Annie. I’ll get to the bottom of it and sort it, but I need you to keep quiet.’

  ‘I’ll keep quiet for now, but if this turns out to have any bearing on anything big, it’s got to come out. And you mustn’t destroy those tapes. Not yet.’

  ‘Who else listened to them?’

  ‘No one but me. Oh, and Charlotte I suppose.’

  ‘Not dear old Aunt Marian?’

  ‘No, she hasn’t a clue.’ Annie had to speak the lie because she must keep her aunt out of the frame. Whether or not Charlotte’s paranoia or Lorraine’s hysteria had substance behind them, no one must ever think Aunt Marian knew more than she should. She wondered suddenly how many people knew that her aunt had travelled to Glasgow and sent a parcel to her niece. Could her flat have been targeted by someone frustrated at not finding the tapes at the guesthouse? Yet, surely anyone who knew Charlotte had taken the tapes would assume them burnt to ashes in the crash.

  ‘D’you keep the client records too?’ she asked Margot. ‘Names and addresses, that sort of thing?’

  ‘Of course we do. Why?’

  ‘Could you check up on a couple of people? No details, I’d just like to know if they really were your clients, or if Charlotte made them up.’

  Margot hesitated, but then went to her desk and looked at her PC. ‘What names?’

  ‘Julia Lee for starters.’

  After a minute, Margot said, ‘I’ve got half a dozen J. Lees, but I don’t think … No, none of them’s a Julia or even a Julie.’

  ‘How about Lorraine then? The woman on the tape.’

  ‘What’s her surname?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  Margot gave her a look. ‘I can’t search just on Lorraine.’

  ‘There’s a reference number on the tapes. Can you use that?’

  Margot turned the tape in her hand, glanced from it to the screen and shook her head. ‘Doesn’t look like it.’

  Annie swallowed a comment about geriatric computer systems and asked instead, ‘Who does your IT stuff? Do you buy it off the shelf?’

  ‘It’s purpose built for us. It’s a subsid of the security firm. That’s another reason I don’t want to piss them off.’

  So the security firm that gave Margot such a good deal had access to her IT systems. Annie thought of Charlotte and the out of hours call that had been cut off. Security guards could prowl these offices with impunity when everyone else was gone. She toyed with voicing her suspicions, but knew Margot wouldn’t want to listen, probably wouldn’t care what anyone else got up to as long as it didn’t interrupt the flow of money into her coffers.

  There was little else to say and after exchanging a few pleasantries, Annie took her leave.

  As she climbed the stairs to her flat, she reflected on how much time it had taken to dump the car and corner Margot. The day was all but gone. Voices from the kitchen. Mike’s was instantly recognizable, but the other was more so, and rushed the blood from her skin.

  Her father.

  Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

  As the door slammed behind her, both voices cut off. In the fraction of a second it took to get from the hallway to the kitchen, the silence rushed to fill every corner. The hammering of blood in her head deafened her.

  ‘Dad … Dad, what is it? What are you doing here? Is it Aunt Marian? What is it?’

  Her father’s face, white with shock, was a momentary image, then she was crushed in a grip that pressed her to a shirt front that smelt of Mike.

  ‘Annie … Annie …’ His voice was in her ear, the words struggling to escape.

  ‘What is it? What is it?’ She tried to pull away, to make sense of the impossible picture of her father in her kitchen, sitting now as though his legs had given way. Mike buried his face in her neck. She could feel him shaking. And across him, she looked into her father’s eyes, and saw how they glistened. She held out her hand and he clasped it convulsively. While the panic rose inside her, there was a need to comfort them both.

  It had to be Aunt Marian. Nothing else would bring her father this far south, but she must suppress her panic or she wouldn’t be able to ask.

  ‘What is it? Tell me, please.’

  ‘You wouldn’t answer your phone.’ Mike’s voice was still muffled in her shoulder.

  ‘Oh Annie.’ Her father spoke for the first time. ‘Annie.’

  ‘But what is it?’

  Mike answered her, the words spilling out in a rush. ‘They found a body in a fire at the other side of the city. We thought it was you. You wouldn’t answer your phone.’

  She pushed away from him so she could stare into his face. A body? ‘I’ve been to see Margot.’ She sat heavily in one of the chairs. ‘For God’s sake, tell me what happened? Please just tell me.’

  Her father stared at her as though frightened she’d disappear if he blinked. He took in a deep breath and began to speak. Fire-fighters going in to damp down after a fire in what they thought was an empty warehouse, had found a body badly burnt. Nearby was one of Annie’s business cards. That led to Pieternel, and via her to Mike, and then her father. And no one could trace her. They had all panicked. Her father came down on the first flight from Glasgow.

  ‘My God! Aunt Marian! She doesn’t–?’

  ‘She knows nothing. It’s been going round inside me all day. How was I to break it to her?’

  Thank God for that. She must ring her aunt without delay in case rumour should get there first. She pulled the phone from her pocket.

  ‘But Pieternel knew my mobile would be switched off.’

  ‘I guess she panicked too.’

  ‘But just a business card? Didn’t anyone see the body?’

  ‘They’re doing DNA tests on what’s left of it. I must get on to them to tell them you’re safe.’ He looked incapable of movement, so she reached out and patted his arm, pushing her phone across to him.

  ‘Use that. I’ll ring Aunt Marian in a minute. And Pieternel. It must have been one hell of a fire.’

  He nodded. ‘Small, but intense. Very little was left. The card must have fallen out of a pocket.’

  ‘I saw a photo, Annie.’ Mike’s voice was unsteady. ‘It was your jacket, your good one.’

  Her jacket? Her cards? ‘Oh my God! It’s Casey. It’s Casey Lane.’

  Chapter 17

  While her father spoke into the phone, Annie sat with her head in her hands and tried desperately to p
ull the pieces together. Mike’s arms came round her from behind. He said nothing, just held his face to hers and rocked them both gently. He didn’t let go until they heard her father’s call end.

  ‘Dad, where are you staying? I can make up a bed on the couch and …’ She ran her hands through her hair, suddenly aware of the chaos; the fallout from the break-in that between them she and Mike had cleared just enough to look like terminal bad-housekeeping. It wasn’t a million miles from her bedroom at home in the old days. She bit her tongue on a confession that she’d been burgled which would only make her father’s worry-load heavier.

  ‘No need, Annie. They’ve put me in a hotel while I’m here. I should get off, now I know you’re safe. They’ve asked me to call in. I’ll see you tomorrow. Will you be at work?’

  Who are they? Call in where? ‘Uh … yes. Yes, I’ll be back at work tomorrow. Listen, I must ring Pieternel.’

  ‘You make your call now. She’ll be worried. I’ll get on my way, but I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  Annie berated Pieternel soundly for not telling everyone that her mobile would be off, then broke it to her that the dead woman was almost certainly Casey.

  ‘My God, I hope she delivered the report first.’

  ‘Pieternel!’

  She clicked off the phone and turned her anger on Mike. ‘What did he say? What did he think about it? What did you tell him?’

  ‘Who? What?’

  ‘All this!’ she screeched, a wide sweep of her arm taking in the mess. ‘What on earth did he think?’

  ‘I don’t think he noticed.’

  ‘Didn’t notice! Of course he noticed. Just look at it! You should have said something. No, you shouldn’t. Oh, I don’t know.’ Her father had never lived in a big city; didn’t know how much a part of life casual break-ins could become.

  ‘Annie, I’m sure. I’m sure he didn’t notice. Not properly. If we have it tidied before he calls in again, he’ll never know. He was living a nightmare when he got here. He thought you were–’

  The abrupt stop, the catch in his voice, jolted her. What was she doing, carping on about a few broken pots? Mike had lived a nightmare too. While she’d poured expensive coffee down her throat and stuffed herself on Margot’s thick chocolate, someone had told him she was dead. What a heartless cow. He didn’t deserve this. She flew to him and reached up to pull his head down to hers.