Good Girl Bad Girl

by Ann Girdharry

  “Does this mean I'm no longer a suspect?”

  “Who said you were ever a suspect? I find that a good dose of fresh air is always called for after a visit to this place.”

  “If you can put up with me limping, then lead the way, Inspector.”

  Spinks gave a smile. “That's the first time I've seen you relax your guard, Ms Medi. Solving these terrible child crimes is something which means a lot to me and my team. I hope you finally realise we can work together.”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  “First you go off on your own, then you tell us Spinks can’t make his move yet!” Marty slammed her fist on the table and threw another dark glare in Kal’s direction.

  “Strictly speaking, Spinks can only work on the London end of the paedophile syndicate, but he’s working with an international squad for child crime, so if we can prove trafficking, that changes everything.”

  “It’s a good thing you finally told Spinks about the stalker, that was sensible, it will get them off your back,” LeeMing said.

  “Bloody fantastic,” Marty said, “to be replaced by someone who organises hit and runs and the disposal of bodies from the scene of a crime.”

  Kal felt herself reddening - though she hadn’t told them, would Marty have guessed a connection between Kal’s father and the sniper shot?

  “And the marksman? What’s your take on that?” asked LeeMing.

  LeeMing was no fool. He must know she held back, but what could she say that wouldn’t make LeeMing think of her with contempt? And how would Marty react if she knew Kal had almost shot someone?

  She squirmed. She couldn’t keep lying. Her time was running out. “I know you’re both going over the line for me and there are some things from the past I should’ve filled you in with.”

  “Take your time,” LeeMing said.

  “I don’t know much. It’s about my father - I always thought he had a secretive side. I keep thinking whatever he hid from me and Mum had something to do with that marksman.”

  With something out, it was a relief. Like pus running out of a poisonous wound – but all she could think of was how disgusting it must look. LeeMing and Marty exchanged a glance.

  “Well, the sniper saved your life,” Marty said.

  “Your father and the marksman are part of the picture. We won’t break the syndicate nor find your mother until we can crack that,” LeeMing said.

  LeeMing spoke as if he were talking about going out for breakfast. As if it were all just a stroll in the park. And he’d not even mentioned the cesspit of her father.

  “We want to bring down this syndicate through the British justice system, not take things into our own hands. I’m right aren’t I?” he said.

  “Agreed,” Kal said, “we've got to outsmart them.”

  Marty took to pacing in front of the lounge windows. “So we break into Scott’s house. Search it.”

  Kal’s first impulse had been a break-in of Scott's residences and if they didn't find Amita, continue the break-ins with Assad next in line. Only the paedophile network would be alerted, and then Amita could end up anywhere, most likely at the bottom of the Thames.

  “No, Marty. Scott alone has three listed addresses. The first hit has to be the right one. At any time they could kill all the children in their possession. We want Amita, we want evidence and then Spinks and his squad moves in.”

  “You’re right, we only have one chance. We need to narrow down the options,” LeeMing said.

  “I know how. I spent the flight researching paedophiles. There's massive amounts of information on the web - psychological profiling, habits and behaviour patterns. Paedophiles often have an obsessive personality and get wrapped up and addicted to small details about their crimes. They've been caught because they like to prove how clever they are. They’ve a desire to show-off. I’m pretty certain Scott’s set up the whole operation and he thinks the syndicate’s impregnable.”

  “And so?” LeeMing said, “What does that give us?”

  “An advantage. If I play on Scott’s weaknesses, it gives me a way in.”

  She’d gone over it many times and was clear on the psychological tactic she'd use to manipulate Scott. She’d worm her way into his mind. Play to his superiority. Fawn and flatter and pander to his ego. Give him the adulation he craved for his crimes. Eventually, in an urge to vaunt himself, Scott would tell Kal where Amita was. Then, of course, Scott would have to kill her.

  “Scott isn’t going to roll over and blab. Manoeuvring close to an experienced criminal and extracting information is a task for a specialist,” LeeMing said.

  “I am a specialist – in psychology and mind games. I can do it. You’ve got to trust me.”

  “We’ve got to get that hard drive, that's the evidence we need, then Spinks can bring in his team. What you’re suggesting is too dangerous,” LeeMing said.

  “I don’t care - I’ve got to find Amita.”

  Marty stopped pacing and Kal watched as Marty searched for the right wording.

  “And there’s your mother as well,” Marty finally said.

  Save first a child she'd allowed to be abducted for abuse, or locate her own mother? The choice was obvious and Kal knew her mother would agree.

  “I made my decision at the morgue. You’ve got to let me try with Scott.”

  “These people haven’t hesitated to kill. Don’t think being in London will give you immunity because it won’t. We should pass it to Spinks and step away,” LeeMing said.

  “No, the police can’t go in yet. Amita was taken because of me. Other children are captive and subjected to god-knows what horrific acts. There’s a girl lying dead and mutilated in the morgue dumped like rubbish - you’ve got to let me try.”

  “Scott’s going to guess it was you at the research institute, don’t be naive,” LeeMing said.

  “I know what I’m doing. Scott will play the game because he thinks I’ve got something on them. He won’t move against me until that possibility is secured.”

  Her voice had gone up several octaves. Everything was slipping, but she had to hold it together. If she couldn’t convince them, she was going after Scott anyway. Alone. They must have realised that.

  LeeMing looked at Marty.

  Marty held Kal’s gaze. “Then we've got a plan. But only on the strict condition that this is a team effort. No more going off on your own. We keep in constant communication.”

  “Okay.”

  “Don’t try to get out of it, Kal. I want to hear it,” Marty said.

  “I said ‘yes’ and I made the same promise to Spinks.”

  LeeMing nodded.

  “I'll work on locating the airfield Scott uses,” Marty said, “and while you were away, I looked into the background to ScottBioTec. Bascially, ground water pollution in Kolkata was caused by a company called WainChemicals. WainChemicals evolved into a massive pesticide plant but it began as a small, colonial enterprise set up by a man named Henderson. Henderson owned a number of businesses in the Bengal region of India, most of which failed. WainChemicals was the exception, though the chemical plant had to close down after a leakage which caused hundreds of deaths. By that time, Henderson's two sons had inherited the business. After the industrial accident, one brother disappeared and the other emigrated to America. The chemical plant was sold to the Indian government and was dismantled ages ago.”

  “Though its legacy of pollution carries on,” LeeMing said with sarcasm.

  “Exactly,” Marty said, “and ScottBioTec sprang up instead, right where the disabled children were being born.”

  Kal leg began throbbing and she gave it a rub.

  “Looks like the effects of the impact are working their way through your system. You’d better get some rest,” LeeMing said.

  “Thanks, I need to lie down and, before that, I'll call Scott's secretary and set up a meeting for tomorrow.”

  When LeeMing smiled at Kal, Marty rolled her eyes. Kal felt the strain lessen. With them backing her up, s
he had a chance.

  ***

  From the darkened lounge window, Kal watched her friends drive away.

  The suspicion had remained heavy inside her for so long. Like a serpent, it lay coiled. On seeing the medallion, in one smooth action, the serpent had awoken. Now it stirred and flicked out its black tongue. All her doubts about David Khan took new life.

  What sort of man would know the things her father knew? She’d worked out the answer a long time ago. Deceit, lies, how to weave a web of confusion, how to read another's intentions without them knowing, how to steal into another's mind like a thief. Advanced combat. Infiltration. Stealth. Marksmanship. The only question that remained was what kind of dark, nasty, murderous criminal had David Khan been?

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Where the impulse came from, she couldn't say, and she went with it, selecting a blue silk, shalwar kameez tunic from Alesha's wardrobe. Finding it impractical, Kal rarely wore traditional Indian dress and, regarding herself in the mirror, she remembered the conflicting emotions she'd felt as a child at the various, well-meaning events, when she and other classmates were forced to dress like their grandparents, for the benefit of 'cultural education'. Now she teamed the traditional tunic with jeans and carefully applied make up.

  As she left 701, Spinks called with news. According to his sources, Boris had returned to Russia and he had done so alone. It was promising, and she and Spinks both agreed, it gave them a chance of finding Amita.

  She headed for Richard Scott's office and took the elevator to the top floor. This time, Kal ignored the rotating android hand. Scott thought he was a king. On top of the world.

  The strategy most likely to rattle Scott would be to keep her tone light-hearted, as if she hadn’t a care in the world. So when the elevator tinged its arrival, Kal stepped out with a jaunty stride.

  There was no sign of the personal assistant, instead Scott waited by the assistant's desk and she knew Scott assessed her as she walked towards him. Yes, she could see him assessing her lightness of mood and wondering what it meant.

  “Where on earth did you disappear these last few days, Kal? You worried me sick.”

  She accepted Scott’s kiss on her cheek.

  “Goodness what's happened to your face?” he said.

  “Oh, that's nothing to worry about, just a kung fu accident with my training partner.”

  “Did you have it seen to?” Scott appeared horrified. “I've an excellent Harley Street doctor whom I'm sure can advise on treatment. The last thing you want is any scarring, and I know he'd see you in an instant if I call him.”

  “There's no need, it was only a little knock. These things happen.”

  “Well, if you say so, my dear, and I must say, you look very attractive today.” He indicated her silk top.

  If they were going to play games, then she’d better do it properly. “It's lovely isn't it? I borrowed it from my mother, although I’m not sure about the colour, I would have preferred it to be red, wouldn't you?”

  Kal watched for Scott’s reaction and he didn't disappoint. A tiny muscle in his right cheek tightened as he stifled a reaction. Yes, she'd taken him by surprise with her audacity. Every opportunity she had to pull the rug from under his feet, to push him off balance, keep him guessing - she must take it.

  Scott cleared his throat. “I hope you’re ready? I've an important appointment and I'm so pleased you and your camera-eye can accompany me. It will be a good introduction to how I run my company.”

  She patted her camera bag. “I’ve been looking forward to learning how you operate. It’s a great opportunity for me. Please, lead the way.”

  ***

  They took a black cab to Regent's Park, where the driver pulled into a sweeping crescent of imposing, white stone, townhouses. They came to a stop mid-way along. Unlike most of central London, here, the black, iron railings glistened as if newly painted. This area had a reputation for housing an abundance of lawyers, and the rich residents clearly got top-notch treatment from the borough council. Even the pavement appeared to be scrubbed clean.

  A liveried butler, late-forties she guessed, opened the door. He welcomed them to the residence with a formal bow. Reminiscent of a stately home, the marble flooring and dark wood panelling of the entrance spoke of indulgence.

  Whilst, with decorum, the butler took and hung their coats, Kal admired a display of pink and yellow roses which adorned a side table. Their sweet scent filled the air and from the freshness of the blooms she supposed the huge bouquet must be renewed on a daily basis. Clearly, this was a household pampered by a whole bank of staff and local tradespeople.

  The butler offered to carry Scott's briefcase up to the library. Scott accepted and when the butler enquired if she'd like him to take her backpack, she politely declined and instead took out her camera.

  “As you wish, madam,” said the butler.

  Standing at the base of the sweeping staircase, a grandfather clock swung out its rhythm, the swinging pendulum sounding a deep tock.

  “It's lovely, isn't it?” the butler said. “It belonged to Judge Greeve's great-great-great grandfather who was a clockmaker. We have a number of interesting timepieces in the house from his collection.”

  As she thought, they were in Randall Greeves’ house, retired High Court Judge. Sixth on Alesha's list.

  “Yes, it's very lovely indeed.”

  “If your schedule permits, I could show you the others later,” the butler said.

  In the periphery of her vision, she caught Scott rubbing his thumb and fingertips together. She interpreted it as a sign of Scott’s impatience. Time to annoy him.

  The butler had a light accent which she couldn't quite place - Armenian perhaps or Turkish.

  “Video clips of these slow-moving time-pieces would make a great video backdrop. I might be interested in returning to do some recordings,” she said, “and if you don't mind me asking, where are you from? I caught your accent only I can't place it.”

  The butler blushed, not in offence, rather with pleasure. Kal could often get away with direct questions about origin and receive a good reaction, when the same enquiry from someone else might be taken the wrong way. The man would probably love to tell her about his own ancestry rather than that of his employer.

  Scott cut them off. “I suggest we keep the pleasantries until another time.”

  The butler swept to the front, giving her a wink on the way. “Of course, sir,” he said, “if you would care to follow me.”

  ***

  Judge Greeves sat in the library wearing a green-and-red, tartan-patterned waistcoat over a grey shirt and brown trousers. Navy boating shoes completed his look. Greeves’ terrible taste indicated he chose his own clothing, rather than delegating the task to his butler. From his saggy complexion and bloodshot eyes, Greeves looked the type who enjoyed a diet of rich foods. For a portly man, he held himself with authority and it was clear from his composure that he knew himself to be a man of power.

  “Take a seat, Richard, and good morning, you must be the lovely Kal Medi,” Greeves said.

  The timbre of his voice had a ring she'd associate with a military officer rather than a retired circuit judge and it made Kal adjust her assessment of him. Probably many people had been thrown off by his appearance, however, Greeves’ tone betrayed him as having a sharp and strategic mind. Probably the type to be an avid war games expert. She must keep alert.

  The butler returned with a pot of coffee on a silver salver and a bowl of white sugar cubes accompanied by a tiny set of silver tongs. He placed them beside Greeves before discreetly retreating.

  “May I offer you some coffee? Or perhaps a mineral water?” Greeves asked.

  She declined and Greeves poured coffee for himself and for Scott.

  “Richard tells me you've a rare talent and I took the liberty of reading a little about your career. I see you have several scoops to your name, and I must say that’s unusual for someone of your age.”

 
“I enjoy photojournalism and it's a profession that depends partly on luck. I’ve been in the right place at the right time.”

  “How modest,” Greeves said, taking the silver tongs and placing two sugar cubes into his cup, “and I understand that, unfortunately, the police have made no progress in locating your mother?”

  “No,” Scott replied, “it's terribly frustrating. Even the detective agency I employed has come up with a blank.”

  “How distressing,” Greeves said, sipping his coffee.

  Behind Greeves’ head, rows of leather-bound books filled the shelves. The spines revealed fat lawyers’ tomes and compilations of past court cases, as well as a vast array of fiction works. The floor to ceiling library acted as insulation from the rest of the house, muffling outside sounds, as if they sat swaddled in a cocoon. All Kal could hear was Greeves sipping his drink, interspersed with the chink of his bone china tea cup on the saucer.

  “Perhaps you're not aware, Kal, that the Government has announced its intention to appoint a Special Commission on Children's Rights and Medical Research. The Commission will draw up recommendations,” Scott said, “and they're due to make an announcement very soon on who will be appointed as Chair. Randall is tipped as top choice.”

  She bit back her disgust. Trust paedophile Greeves to be selected for such an esteemed position. She pretended to be interested in Scott’s news and Greeves assessed her, she knew it. What would he come up with?

  “If you don't mind me saying, you’ve dressed most elegantly,” Greeves said, “although, in my experience, the choice of traditional clothing often works as a disadvantage for people of… your type of background.”

  The superiority and veiled racism were unmistakable.

  Greeves continued. “I find it interesting you mention luck in relation to your career. In my own progression through the legal profession, I found luck to play little part, on the contrary, in my view, contacts are a person's main asset.”