‘Special Branch?’ I squeaked. ‘But I thought they chased overseas baddies.’
‘There are far more links with organised crime and baddies, as you so charmingly call them, over here than you realise. And the death at Crabton Manor and those immigrants suggest big fish.’ He patted the pocket with the film cassette in it. To his credit Taz hadn’t doubted anything I’d said. Occasionally he’d stopped to ask for clarification of various details, but each time he’d nodded in what looked like agreement and continued with his notes. ‘Tomorrow you’ll have lunch, ever so casually, with a very senior policeman –’
It was I who shook my head. ‘Can you really see that as a scenario? Me in my dungarees meeting some smart gent?’
I’d forgotten how he could wrinkle his nose in distaste. ‘Are the dungarees really necessary?’
‘If we’re both to be safe undercover as decorators,’ I said. ‘In any case, Paula’s got a contract to keep to. We’re her employees, remember.’
‘You really mean to carry on?’
‘Don’t you? OK, you don’t have to. She can tell van der Poele that you didn’t suit, and we’re back to three women again.’ So Taz would go back to the city where he belonged and leave us to it. ‘But I can’t let her down, Taz. She’s been a good boss to me, never throwing my past at me even when I’d really pissed her off about something. Never. Ever. She needs the money from this job so that she can pay Meg and Helen. And me,’ I added, almost as an afterthought.
‘Well, you’re going to have to talk to someone pretty soon, aren’t you? For your own sake,’ he observed coolly. ‘Not to mention nailing Marsh, if he does turn out to be bent. No, I’m not doubting you, not for one minute,’ he insisted, as my hackles rose. ‘I’m more interested in sorting out the hows and whys and whens than expressing myself properly. Now, I’ll make sure you’re safe for the night and be with you early – by eight at the very latest.’
‘Aren’t you going to stay?’ I asked stupidly. ‘No, I mean here, in the caravan. I didn’t mean –’ I ground to a halt while I was losing.
‘I’ve arranged to stay with a friend,’ he said, with both embarrassment and an obvious desire to end the discussion, ‘in Maidstone.’ And a flush worthy of Meg, starting somewhere near his navel, I should hope, spread slowly and inexorably up his throat, across his face and into his ears.
‘OK,’ I said, taking the hint. ‘Let me finish here – the loo’s cleaner – and I’ll lock up behind us.’ I waved him a breezy good night. And retired to my eyrie to cry my eyes out.
Except I didn’t. Cry, that is. Giving up for the time being on the rather tricky language of Evelina, by the light of my friends’ torch I got deeply involved in first one, then another of those Dubliners stories, ending with the two morally bankrupt young men in Two Gallants. That’s the nice thing about books. They remind you that some things never change.
True to his word, Taz was knocking on the mobile home’s door soon after seven. His friend must be very tolerant about his comings and goings. He couldn’t have got there much before midnight and must have been up by six.
I’d found bacon and eggs and was ready to do an old-fashioned fry-up. There were even a couple of wrinkled mushrooms and a tired tomato.
‘Cholesterol,’ he said.
‘Well, the milk’s off and the bread’s as hard as the devil’s head. We’ll have to stop off at a garage or newsagent’s to get replacements. But until then, all I can offer you is a rather manky orange, a sad grapefruit and a French apple. Or dry toast, of course.’ Jan had lashed out on one of those tiny packs of very expensive French butter. I’d forgotten to get any spread to replace it when I’d used the last for yesterday’s lunch. Let Taz hair-shirt if he wanted to. I got busy with the grill-pan. (Even I don’t fry bacon!) Very soon Taz was sniffing hopefully. I took the hint.
So the fluffy young woman who knocked on the door was greeted by the smell I’ve always dreamed of waking up to. And she had no qualms about accepting my generous offer of Jan’s hospitality.
‘Cressida. I’m from the Special Branch,’ she said flashing an ID. In all probability she had degrees from the best universities and black belts in any number of martial arts. But she spoke in a kittenish voice that made me want to scream. ‘Toby – that’s one of my colleagues – is looking at your explosive device now. He’d probably welcome breakfast, too.’
I peered round the door. Not an armoured car in sight, just a couple of trailer vans, the sort people used to move house. They were taking ‘low key’ seriously, weren’t they? ‘That’s tough, I’m afraid. That’s the last of the bacon on your plate. Unless you want to share it with him?’ I might have given him some of mine if he’d been a Troilus, not a Toby.
It was soon agreed that it was kindest if we tucked in and left no visible traces of the meal to distress Toby. He couldn’t fail to notice the smell, however, and looked duly hangdog when Taz tossed the manky orange in his direction. The trouble was, his complexion rather resembled that of the fruit, as if he’d tried to cure acne by over-exposure to a sun lamp.
‘I’m going to need specialist equipment,’ he announced, peeling the orange reluctantly to reveal something nasty. ‘So my aim will be to get it removed from here.’
‘You’re going to risk that? After what happened to Arthur?’
‘Ronnie, our little robot, will risk it. He’ll pop it into a blast-proof container. In any case, if it’s made by the expert Taz tells me you suspect it is, then it’ll be pretty stable.’
‘Unless there’s a timing device,’ I pointed out. I wasn’t sure he was patronising me by giving the robot a silly name or was following the custom of putting together a long and sophisticated set of initials to make one.
‘I’ll warn Ronnie to bear that in mind,’ Toby said, a half sneer on his face – though that might have been in response to Cressida’s offer of chewing-gum.
I left Taz to make whatever phone calls he had to make and retired to my eyrie to fit the lenses. They’d made me practise inserting and removing them, of course, and I’d had no difficulty slipping them out last night. This morning was a different matter altogether. The little things had lives of their own, and showed an affection for the index fingers supposed to be popping them in that was almost touching. Just when I thought I’d have to give up, they went in, one by one. There, I was Lucy again, not Caffy.
I’d taken so long I wasn’t surprised to hear Taz yelling for me. I called him up, and showed him the rest of the place. To my horror he obviously saw it as a heap of old bricks that was going to cause far more trouble than it was worth. Even though all the major repairs had been done, and Fullers was simply awaiting our cosmetic efforts, he could hardly wait to get out of the place. But he steered me back to my eyrie.
‘We’ll meet my contact after we knock off work,’ he said. ‘So take your glad-rags with you.’
‘Taz,’ I said, with as much patience as I could muster, ‘you’ll find we’re both filthy by six and need a shower.’
‘He wants to see us at seven so we’ll have to knock off early,’ he said.
‘The other thing,’ I said carefully, ‘is that I don’t have any glad-rags. I’ve got slightly smarter jeans and this top.’ I held them up for his inspection.
He looked aghast. ‘Surely you can do better than that.’
‘How? And indeed why?’
‘Well, for this evening, for instance, we shall be meeting in a decent hotel.’
‘The first decent hotel I’ve been in since I came off the game,’ I observed deliberately.
He flushed again. ‘You had good gear then –’
‘And sold it all.’ Time to see what being brutal would do. ‘To support my habit. Remember, that’s what drug addicts do. They sell everything, and steal some more and sell that.’ Not that I’d ever stolen. A bit to do with moral probity, more to do with Taz’s support. But I could certainly understand the temptation. ‘If I asked Jan and Todd they’d fit me out from top to toe, but they’ve
given me so much I couldn’t ask for anything I didn’t really, really need.’
‘Sorry. Of course. You’ve done very well,’ he said in a tone I couldn’t place. Was he trying to get back into social worker mode? Or was he trying to remember what we’d once meant to each other. Straightening, he tried again. ‘But think – haven’t you really got an outfit you keep for what Mother would call “best”?’
‘How long have you been in the police?’ I asked.
Thrown, he asked, ‘Why? Well, I must have joined soon after you started your second lot of rehab.’
‘So you don’t remember how hard up you always were when you were a social worker? Well, Taz, dreadfully paid though social workers are, they get lots more than the minimum wage; they get contracts involving sick pay and paid holidays. I’m on what the government in its infinite wisdom says is enough to live on. I’ve got a bit stashed away in case I get sick, because I couldn’t even afford a prescription on my average week’s take-home pay, let alone a couple of days in bed with flu. But I live so close to the wire I simply can’t afford posh clothes.’
‘Charity shops?’
I looked at him steadily, then reached to finger his shirt. ‘How many people wore that before you did?’
He wrinkled a fastidious nose.
‘Quite,’ I said. ‘So I’ll put in these jeans and this top for this evening, shall I?’
It was such a wonderful day it was impossible to stay in sociologist mode. If only Taz had driven a soft-top – it would have been grand to drive through the sun-blessed lanes, the wind blowing through what was actually not very nice hair now. Perhaps it was something to do with the way I lay: how else could I explain the patch at the back which seemed permanently tangled and matted? It needed a good dose of the serum I used to use. Well, it would have to manage with some of Jan’s olive oil and a polythene bag to cover it for half an hour before I shampooed it.
‘Have you decided whether to stay or throw in the towel?’ How’s that for association of ideas?
‘I’ll stay for today. If you think there’s a chance of getting in the house. We’d need proper evidence before I could get a search warrant, you see.’
‘That’s why Paula and I took photos. Yes, inside and out. And why Paula picked up a fragment of blue rope and slipped it into a poly bag for safe-keeping.’
‘She did what?’
‘I told you. I took some photos from the outside, and when she let me into the place we took more of the room where I’d seen the corpse. And she spotted some fibres of the rope the stiff had been strangled with on the floor and kept them. Just in case.’
‘So why the hell haven’t you told the police before now?’
‘Because when I tried I got Marsh accusing me of wasting police time. Hell, Taz, don’t you ever listen? I don’t suppose you were listening when I told you I’d got photos of the immigrants –’
‘Yes, I was. You gave me the film for processing. It’s at the lab even now, I hope.’
‘You hope!’
‘My friend was taking it to Maidstone – that’s where Kent’s police HQ is, remember – this morning.’
‘I hope he or she remembers,’ I grumbled, unashamedly fishing for info. Of course I was nosy. Your ex-nearly lover’s sitting beside you – you’re entitled to know what he’s up to and with whom. Well, to wonder, if not to know.
‘I’m sure they will.’
Oh, ho. A no fishing sign. And his jaw was clamped in the way that made him think he looked like that dishy man who plays Hornblower on the TV. His nostrils were even giving a little flair.
‘There’s a garage over there,’ I said. ‘Bread and milk and sandwiches and stuff.’
As I walked to the shop, he rolled down his window. ‘Get some butter, will you? Proper stuff, not marge. And a paper. The Observer.’
I walked back, and leant towards him. ‘Haven’t you taken anything in? I can just about afford essentials, but nothing more.’
‘But a paper is an essential.’
‘I’ve just crippled myself financially to change my appearance because one of your lot dubbed me in with some very nasty people. If you’d had to do that you’d have been able to claim on expenses, wouldn’t you? You can probably claim your living expenses down here, if the case comes to anything. So why don’t you pick up the tab – then you can get anything you damned well want.’ I was supposed to be able to do anger without any other emotion, wasn’t I? How come I had to turn away before he could see the tears welling up round my damned lenses?
I told myself it was the cleaning solution: I must have used too little. Or too much.
Chapter Thirteen
Paula popped our supplies into the big cool-box that also housed extra water and squash on days like this, raising an eyebrow at the obviously cool relations between me and Taz. She also gave us a post-it to stick on the Escort’s dash to remind us to collect them. ‘It’s going to be a real scorcher,’ she said, rather unnecessarily. ‘So I want us to work as far as possible in the shade. I’m afraid the dogs are back in their outhouse, which means we’re going to have to go behind Trev – that’s the Transit – here.’ That was Paula for you – self-possessed and forthright. Until she had to say, ‘So make sure you let us know if you’re going to – er –’ She blushed. ‘And we’ll warn you, too.’
‘Not very hygienic,’ he said, nose a-wrinkle.
‘Well. With a bit of luck we’ll all sweat so much our bladders won’t get very full.’ Now she sounded like matron in one of those old hospital comedy films.
‘More to the point,’ I said, ‘does this mean van der Poele’s out of the way?’
‘Not yet. He said he’d be going out but didn’t give a time. I’m feeding and watering the dogs. And yes, they are doped. So if you really need the loo –’
‘Paula, stop wittering about our bodily functions!’ I interrupted her. ‘Sorry.’ She was the boss, after all. ‘The important thing is that we shall be able to check out the house. Uninterrupted.’
‘Until he unexpectedly returns.’ Paula’s smile was ironic, though at whose expense I wasn’t sure.
Just in case it was mine, I gave a cheerful grin. ‘But we shall have the excuse of needing to open and close windows. And you have the key.’
‘After Friday night,’ she said seriously, ‘I want you to have paint all over you and a brush in your hand before you venture in there. And that applies to you, too, Taz. If he finds out you’re not who you’re supposed to be, what does that make me? And the rest of us?’
‘Just taken in by a smooth-talking con,’ he said, switching on a charming smile, as if putting himself down, just a little.
‘I don’t do taken in,’ she snapped. ‘And I don’t think van der Poele does credulity, either. He knows Caffy was on to something. A copper turns up –’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t have to tell him I was a cop.’
Paula raised a warning hand. In the distance a dog yowled. ‘It’s hard to work out just how much tranquilliser to give them,’ she said, calm again. Apparently. ‘And it’d be a brave man who could keep his trap shut with them tearing off his balls. No, Taz, you do it my way or not at all. Do I make myself clear?’
He drew himself up to his full six foot, pushing out his chest as if on parade. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘And stop taking the micky. While you’re here, you’re polite to the boss. Otherwise,’ she added, spoiling the effect, ‘I shan’t show you those photos we took.’ She turned back to dig in the Transit’s glove box. I noticed she produced just half the set; did that mean she only half-trusted Taz?
Despite taking plenty of drinks breaks, it was a hot and sticky crew that gathered for lunch. Taz was last down, and made straight for the far side of the van.
‘I bet van der Poele only wanted us to work this weekend because he’d heard the weather forecast,’ Meg sighed, slumping into a deck-chair and undoing more top buttons than strictly necessary. ‘It must be well into the thirties.’
‘No o
ne would be mean enough to do anything like that,’ Helen protested. ‘By the way, has he gone yet?’
‘He has and he would,’ Paula declared. ‘Which is why I’ve changed my mind and you three are going to take the sides of the house overlooking the road and paint with one eye open for van der Poele and I am going to show Taz round.’ She stared at me as if daring me to contradict her. I hadn’t even thought of such a thing. First, the person showing anyone the ropes would naturally be the boss. Second, I’d no particular desire to be with Taz. Third, if I was nippy on my feet at the end of the break I’d be able to get to the only part of the house still in full shade that had a view of the road.
Meanwhile Taz returned, via his car. ‘Listening to The World this Weekend! What sort of outfit are you?’ he demanded, no doubt taking in the fact that there were only four chairs, all occupied. He flipped over to me one of the three packs of sandwiches from the petrol station shop, and reclined at our feet with his two. He’d stripped off to reveal an already tanned six-pack and set of pecs to die for. Reclining showed everything off far better than sitting would have done.
‘I don’t know why you’re laughing,’ Meg rebuked him quietly. ‘It helps my kids with their homework.’
Helen said, ‘And I thought I might start college in the autumn. Get qualifications like the others.’
‘You don’t need a knowledge of current affairs to learn how to slap on emulsion,’ he chortled.
‘There’s no reason why women shouldn’t know what’s going on in the world, for all we don’t have any fancy degrees, is there?’ Meg demanded. ‘And I think you’ll find NVQs involve a bit more than slapping on emulsion.’ Quite a mouthful from someone he must have realised fancied the socks off him.
He dropped his eyes. So he should.
Thinking of my spot out of the sun, I hauled myself to my feet. It wasn’t emulsion I was about to slap on, but gloss paint where the frame met the window. You need to get an eighth of an inch, no more, on the glass. That requires a bit of skill and a very steady hand. If I heard any more of his lip I might not be able to manage the steady hand part, I was getting so angry. How had I ever been in love with this patronising young man? Or was I just angry because he was taking more notice of the others than of me?
Scar Tissue Page 12
