by David Belbin
He felt bad about not telling her what Jerry had done. He owed Sarah his job, which had lifted him out of the scrap heap, and they had so much history. But it was wrong to share other people’s secrets. Later, he was going to do his first shift at the switchboard of his brother’s cab firm. A spliff would help him think, but wasn’t compatible with the work he was about to do. Honest work. If he stayed honest, he would have to stay in this shithole of a flat for the foreseeable future. Or he could throw in his lot with Andrew and become as rich as Croesus.
Nick didn’t judge people with no legitimate prospects who went into drug dealing. He didn’t judge Andy, either. Like him, Nick had a choice. Less choice than when he first got arrested, but a choice nevertheless. Spend your life looking over your shoulder, respected only by people you didn’t respect yourself. Or make the best of what you’ve got. No choice, when you put it like that. He might not get Sarah back. True love did not conquer all, if true love was what they once had. True love rarely conquered the divide between a rented Alfreton Road flat and a posh apartment in the Park. But he would never get Sarah back if he returned to drug dealing. And there was no innocence about this decision. He’d seen what crack and smack did to users, inside and out.
Andy had given him a week to think it over, so Nick wouldn’t tell him his decision straight away. He didn’t want to decide in haste then repent at leisure. Too much money was involved for comfort. There were bound to be more shades of grey in the argument than he was acknowledging to himself at the moment.
Only later, when he was cycling to the cab office, did it occur to Nick how Sarah could be a suspect in the murder of Paul Morris. He dismissed the thought out of hand. He knew the way the world worked. Sarah was so well respected, and was in such a position of authority, that even if she had stabbed Paul in the back, the powers-that-be were bound to let her get away with it.
44
The Home Secretary welcomed Sarah into his vast, historic office. When she’d sat down, he poured her a large brandy, but didn’t have one himself.
‘Have you got something to tell me?’
‘Paul Morris and I were having a …’ Sarah stumbled over her words ‘… relationship. Until Friday morning. It only started after Paul said he was getting a legal separation from his wife. On Friday, he told me that this had been a lie, so I ended the affair.’
‘He was seen shouting at you in the street. You’re on CCTV, leaving his flat.’
‘We didn’t have a row, as such, but he did try to stop me leaving. I got a train back to Nottingham. You say it’s on CCTV?’
‘Yes. There’s a new camera outside a café that the police didn’t find out about until this afternoon.’
‘That means …’ Relief began to flood Sarah’s body. She felt herself shake and took a gulp of brandy. It burned her mouth, but helped. ‘Has Annette been told?’
‘About the murder, yes. About you, no. We’ll try to keep the affair quiet, but there are no guarantees about such matters.’
‘Thanks, I really appreciate that.’
‘Don’t thank me yet. We don’t know how many members of the public saw you that morning. It only takes one to go to the press.’
‘Did the CCTV show anybody else going into his flat?’
‘I can’t tell you any more about it. You’re out of the loop now. I’m sorry for your loss but, from now on, we have to be very discreet indeed. I will represent the Home Office at the funeral. It’s better if you stay away.’
‘Of course.’
‘And I want you to think of a good reason for resigning.’
‘What?’
‘When I asked you to join the ABC committee, you should have told me about your relationship with Paul Morris. That was a serious omission.’
‘I didn’t ask Paul to recommend me for the ABC committee!’
‘He didn’t. You were appointed at the suggestion of the prime minister. He thought it would be useful to have someone relatively young and connected to the issues. If Paul took any credit for your appointment, he was lying. But you still should have told me of your relationship. I’m afraid that, since you’re leaving government, you’ll leave the ABC committee, too. I should remind you not to mention its existence to anybody.’
Sarah began to cry. This was the second time in the last three days that she’d cried because of Paul. She couldn’t believe he was dead. Unlike the Home Secretary, though, she had a good idea why he had been killed. Should she mention his drug dealing now? It could only make things worse, and expose her connection with Nick. She took another slurp of brandy.
The situation began to sink in. A tabloid shitstorm still threatened to engulf her. Which meant her boss was right. She had to resign.
‘I’ll go,’ she said. ‘But I want you to be very clear on something. I’ve done nothing wrong. I slept with a man who’d lied about his marital status, and I was appointed to a committee whose existence I was unaware of. It put me in an awkward position, but I certainly broke no rules, written or unwritten.’
‘Agreed. And you have been an excellent minister, Sarah, as your performance in the House today amply demonstrated. If you’re lucky, none of this will come out. I have instructed the investigating team to keep your involvement strictly to themselves. I told them that I would regard a leak as a demonstration that the Metropolitan Police is incapable of internal security. If you’re lucky, you’ll be able to return to government in due course. Can you think of a credible reason to step down from office for a while?’
‘My mother’s having an operation on Wednesday. I was going to take some time off to look after her. Until she’s had the op, though, I don’t know how serious –’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ the Home Secretary interrupted, ‘but the timing is just right for this situation. We’ll announce that you’re stepping down of your own volition and will be replaced at the reshuffle. I suggest you go home and write a letter to Tony.’
‘Will you tell him what really happened?’
Her boss considered for a moment. ‘Only if it turns out that you did it.’
EPILOGUE
August 1998
For a moment, Nick did not recognize the woman who’d arrived at his door in the early evening. She’d let her hair grow longer and had more laugh lines than she had seven years ago, when they stopped being lovers, but was no less attractive for that. Her smile was still the same. He kissed her cheek and invited her in.
‘How did you find me?’
‘Phone book. I hope you don’t mind me showing up out of the blue.’
‘Not at all. You’ve only just caught me, though. I’m moving.’
‘Somewhere nice?’ Eve asked, looking at the room. Filled with cardboard boxes, it looked even smaller than it really was.
‘A place near the arboretum. It’s a lot nicer than this, yes.’
He’d come to an arrangement with Jerry, who had passed her GCSEs with several A grades. Social services would be providing her with a place until she was eighteen. Until then, at least, he would rent her flat from her, paying with a combination of cash and A-level English literature lessons.
‘I expect you can guess why I’ve come round,’ Eve said, almost shyly.
‘Not really.’
‘A few months ago, Nancy Tull mentioned you in passing. I read between the lines that you were seeing each other.’
‘We were. It didn’t work out, I’m afraid.’
‘Pity. You two might have been good for each other. I was hoping you were still in touch with her.’
‘I haven’t seen her for a while. Why?’
‘It’s school business. I’ve been trying to track her down. I visited her home, but she doesn’t live there any more.’
‘Isn’t it the summer holidays still?’
‘For another week. But Nancy hasn’t been in since June. Even before that, her attendance had become erratic. She’d not show up and not call in sick either. Two weeks before the end of term, she claimed to have a cold a
nd we haven’t heard from her since. Ever since summer half-term, the days when she did come in, she looked … gaunt, unwell. Do you have any idea what’s wrong with her?’
‘The guy she was seeing before me is called Carl. I know she went back to him. And I know he leads a fairly wild life. But I don’t know where he lives, sorry.’
‘I’d like to help Nancy,’ Eve said, the deputy head disappearing from her voice. ‘But I can’t if … is it heroin this time?’
Nick tried to decide how open to be with Eve. ‘I don’t think so. She was using crack when I saw her last. Smokable cocaine. Very, very addictive.’ When Eve didn’t look surprised, Nick added, ‘Why did you say this time?’
Eve grimaced. ‘She did something similar a couple of years ago. Alcohol and cocaine were the problem, from what I gathered. She went AWOL then, too. Not for as long as this. I persuaded the head not to sack her. She agreed to have treatment. It took a while, but she turned her life around.’
‘I had no idea.’
‘Addicts can be very secretive. I expect you know that. Nancy said you were doing drug rehabilitation work.’
‘I had a job, but the contract finished.’
‘If I track down Nancy, would you talk to her?’
‘I’d try, of course.’ Nick would feel obliged to, since he felt partly responsible for her worsening addiction. But he wouldn’t tell Eve about this, nor about his belief that Nancy was into crack well before he inadvertently supplied her. ‘Only thing is, Nancy’s boyfriend hates me. He attacked me once. If they’re still together, I doubt he’d let me get near her. I’ll ask around. How long has she got before you sack her?’
‘There were a lot of parental complaints last term. She was called in for a meeting with the head yesterday, but didn’t respond. Maybe she’ll turn up on the first day of term, fit and well, give us her new address, apologize profusely and get back to work.’
Nick doubted this. As, obviously, did Eve. ‘I wish I could help more, Eve, but we only went out for a few weeks. She turned out not to be the person I thought I knew.’
‘You didn’t …?’ There was a slight uncertainty in Eve’s voice.
‘Tell her about us? No. I never told anybody. Did you?’
‘Only my husband. You can’t start a marriage with secrets.’
‘I suppose not. I’m pleased to see you looking so well on it.’
‘You’re looking good too. How shall we stay in touch?’
‘I haven’t got a new phone number yet,’ Nick said. He had no plans to get a landline. Too public. ‘Why don’t you give me yours?’
The conversation might have continued, but for the sound of feet on the stairs. In came Chantelle, wearing jeans, trainers and a vest that left little to the imagination.
‘Are you ready, lover?’
‘Just about. Let me introduce you to Eve, who I used to work with.’
The two women appraised each other. Chantelle saw an older woman who was no threat, and, more or less correctly, assumed something professional. Eve saw a confident, lively woman half her age, and gave Nick an approving nod.
‘I’ll bet you’re not here to help Nick move boxes,’ Chantelle said.
‘That’s not why I came, but I’m happy to lend a hand,’ Eve said.
The next hour and a half was strange, but not in a bad way. The two women – the oldest he’d ever had feelings for and the youngest – helped him move into his new flat, which had been bought by a dead man for the girl who’d killed him.
‘Is your mother really so ill?’ Eric asked Sarah, over dinner in her flat. This was the first time that she had entertained him there.
‘It’s serious, yes. She has to have another operation because they don’t think they got everything the first time. I need to spend more time with her.’
‘I didn’t think you were the sort of person who gave up power easily.’
‘I talked it over with my boss and I only have to let them know when I’m ready to return. I’m still in the PM’s good books.’
‘It must hurt that you were replaced by the young woman who criticized you in a debate. What was her name?’
‘Ali Blythe. No, we’re friends. I congratulated her when I heard.’
Sarah’s resignation had been little discussed in media coverage of the reshuffle. The main focus had been on the dismissal of the secretary of state for social security, whose career had been fatally undermined by the single parent benefit fiasco.
‘There’s something you’re not telling me.’
‘And there’s something you’re not telling me. I’m out of the loop since I left the Home Office. Who killed Paul Morris? You must have heard.’
Eric shrugged. ‘I’m afraid not. Strictly between us, his wife thinks he was having an affair with one, possibly more than one, woman. But the Met have no leads. They can’t rule out aggravated burglary. The angle of the blade suggests that his assailant was smaller than him. There was nothing useful from forensics or CCTV. The one curious thing about the case is that there was a burglary – maybe a second burglary – at least thirty-six hours after the killing. Not much taken, but without the noise the burglars made, Paul’s body might not have been found for several more days.’
There was no suspicion in his eyes. The Met had kept their word and not leaked Paul’s relationship with Sarah. She changed the subject.
‘I saw your big drugs bust on the news.’
‘Yes, that was a real result.’ Nottingham police had finally caught the former head of the Crack Action Team red-handed with large quantities of cocaine and heroin. Frank Davis would receive a long sentence. ‘And, this time, it wasn’t a set-up. We think his bosses – whoever they were, our intelligence is mixed – cut him loose after he got released in April. So he sold off most of his property in order to fund going back into large-scale dealing, which was the only game he knew. Stupid. We were all over him with surveillance. It was just a matter of time.’
He went on. ‘A pity that the Power Project had to be closed down, but it was too soon after the Crack Action Team fiasco. What’s your friend Nick doing these days?’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ Sarah said. ‘I helped him out, but we don’t see each other socially.’
In fact, she had tried to reach Nick, only this week, for a catch-up, but his phone was disconnected and there was a ‘For Rent’ sign outside his flat. They had spoken only once since her resignation, by phone. He’d asked if it had anything to do with the affair with Paul. She’d told him the truth. She trusted Nick to keep her secrets. But neither of them had suggested that they meet. She would never love anyone the way she had loved Nick, but seeing him only reminded her that, when she was with someone new, she was settling for second best.
‘Forgive me for asking this,’ Eric said, topping up her glass, ‘but I know you met with Cane when he was winding up the Power Project.’
‘I did. Forgive you for asking what?’
‘You didn’t hint that we had an officer inside the project, did you? He wouldn’t have a clue about our friend? It’s a matter of great delicacy.’
When the Power Project was set up, following the corruption of the Crack Action Team, the police had insisted on having someone on the inside. A young, over-qualified woman from out of the area had applied for the job of receptionist. Unsurprisingly, Kingston appointed her, though he was never privy to the subterfuge.
‘Nick had no idea about her. He was pissed off when Chantelle left suddenly, because it meant more work for him. The only people that knew who she really was were Suraj and me. Is she still working undercover?’
‘You don’t need to know that.’
‘Don’t I?’ Their eyes met, each amused at the game they were playing. Sarah wondered how hard Eric would try to persuade her to let him stay the night. His glass was nearly empty. ‘One of these days,’ she said, opening a second bottle of Montepulciano, ‘I’ll work out the difference between the things I need to know and the things I don’t. That would make my life
a lot simpler. Can I pour you another glass?’
‘I don’t mind if I do.’
You got away with it, but you did not get away. Your new flat is only a few minutes’ walk from the hostel. You share it with a trainee nurse and another sixth-form student. It’s too soon to say whether you’ll be mates with either of them, but you try to be sociable. You could do with a new friend.
Your social worker sees you once a fortnight. You have chosen your A levels and been to an induction afternoon. You are not ready to study but Nick says you have to. He says you will move past the guilt. He says that when good people do bad things, they want to punish themselves, especially if they haven’t been found out, officially punished. But that will pass, he says. He gives you books to read. He insists on giving you rent for the flat that you never want to go back to.
You miss your old mates. Even the ones you thought you never wanted to see again, like Shaz. The Saturday before term starts, you bump into her on the same old wall. First time you’ve seen her in weeks. She weighs a ton, waddles when she walks. Shaz takes you to a big old place that Beany owns, or rents. It’s on the smarter side of Woodborough Road, in a tree-lined street called Corporation Oaks. Beany doesn’t screw her very often these days. Worried about hurting the baby, he says. Plus he’s got a new piece he’s more interested in, someone he used to deal to.
‘But she’s old. He’ll come back to me, you’ll see.’
Shaz has good clothes, good weed too. You’re starting to float when you come out of the living room and see Beany on the stairs. He’s in a hurry, so he only strokes your cheek, says, ‘You know where to find me, girl.’ In a weird way, it’s good that he still wants you. There’s a shout from up the stairs.
‘I know what you’re like. Don’t forget!’
‘I won’t forget,’ Beany shouts back, then flashes you a grin. ‘Gotta go.’
You glance at the woman on the stairs. She wears only a bra and knickers, but she looks familiar. The bra is a good one, you recognize the make, but the knickers are starting to sag. She stares back at you with the otherworldly gaze of the crackhead. Soon, she will have that grey pallor, too, and her price will go down. The woman speaks and you’re sure it’s her.
