by Tom Bale
‘Hey, hey.’ He went to put a comforting arm around her, and she was too disorientated to resist. ‘I know how distressing this is, but he’s fine, don’t worry. My mum’s looking after him.’
‘Where?’
‘She lives in Luton.’ He nodded towards the walkway. ‘Why don’t we find a cafe? I have a lot to tell you.’
He started moving but she pulled free of his grasp, forcing him to turn back. ‘How did you get Charlie? He was with his dad.’
‘They fobbed him off on a servant, from what Charlie told me. He said Grandpa was nasty to him. He saw me from a window, and I waved.’ Dean smiled fondly. ‘He’s a very bright boy. He suggested a game of hide and seek, which gave him the chance to come outside and say hello.’
‘And then you snatched him? There’s no way Charlie would willingly go with a stranger.’
‘But I’m not a stranger,’ Dean said reprovingly. ‘He knows me from the Skyway.’
‘No, he doesn’t. You’ve been, what, eight or nine times, and Charlie wasn’t there.’
‘That was the climbing wall. I’ve been to other parts of the centre, and one day Charlie was in the cafe, on his own, and I chatted to him for a while. I had a game on my phone that he was interested in. Then I saw him a couple of weeks back in Queens Park, when he was there with Lucas. I had my “girlfriend” with me – though I told Charlie she was my sister.’
There was an amused tone to his voice, but to Jen it was a shattering revelation: more proof that she’d failed as a mother – dragging Charlie to work when childcare wasn’t available, neglecting him to the extent that he could form a connection with a stranger without her being aware of it.
‘So you’ve been spying on us? Stalking me and my son?’
‘No. Don’t make it sound sleazy.’ He shivered. ‘I admit that I had a small role in this horrible plot against you, but not any longer. I’m on your side now.’
‘Who do you work for?’
‘Did,’ he corrected. ‘A man called Hugo Hamilton.’
Jen frowned. The name meant nothing to her. ‘And what about Alex Wilson? Sam Dhillon?’
Dean was nodding sadly. ‘All of us, I’m afraid, recruited to turn your existence into a living hell.’
‘But why? Is it Gerard. . .?’
‘I’m afraid so. You’ve defied his wishes for Charlie’s future, which in his eyes means you’ve picked a fight – and he’s a man who can’t bear to lose anything, ever.’
‘So just because he’s not getting his own way, he’s trying to destroy me?’
‘Never mind “trying”.’ Dean sounded angry on her behalf. ‘He’s very close to succeeding. But I know how we can stop him.’
In a brusque, resentful tone, Wilson ran through the plot against Jennifer Cornish. The objective was simple enough: to give Freddie Lynch the upper hand in their dispute over custody of their son. But the practicalities of achieving that objective were another matter.
‘Do you have any idea how frigging hard it is to manipulate a law-abiding person into committing a crime? We kept laying out the bait, and the bitch kept refusing to take it.’
‘Why not just kill her?’ Stemper asked. ‘It’s simple enough to make it look like an accident.’
Wilson seemed to think he was joking, because he chuckled and said, ‘There was one day I nearly ran her over by accident – Christ, I wish I’d done it.’ He described how she had finally been lured into a scenario that saw her arrested for criminal damage. ‘The day it happened, watching everything slip into place, that was a corker.’
‘Let’s move on to the failings. How exactly did she identify the conspiracy?’
Wilson went bright red, and his knee started juddering against the table. ‘That was the client’s fault – he was always pushing, wanting more. After the burglary we should have backed right off, but we’d been running multiple streams, you know? One of them was to use sex to trash her reputation.’
‘And how would you do that?’
Wilson gave a sly smile, as if he’d detected a prurient interest in Stemper’s voice. ‘We had two guys working to get close – one a right flash bastard, the other a geek, playing a longer game. Well, all of a sudden she seemed to be interested in the good-looking one, Sam, so we thought, yes!’ His eyes were shining with excitement. ‘The plan was to use a secret camera, get her on film having sex – ideally in a few, uh, creative positions – and then stick it up on some amateur porn sites.’ He paused to take a breath. ‘But there was a backup plan, in case she didn’t want to jump straight into bed with him.’
‘Rohypnol?’
Wilson scowled. ‘Good guess. Only someone said, if we’re gonna drug her, why not make it more interesting – go for the full gangbang. As long as we wore masks, we could all get stuck in.’ His regretful laugh told Stemper exactly who he meant by ‘someone’. ‘That was gonna be our exit bonus, except the bitch rumbled us, somehow. Pretended to make a move on Sam, only to go snooping at the hotel where he was staying.’
‘I expect seeing him with you didn’t help?’
Wilson’s shoulders slumped. ‘So Hugo told you? Well, he’s at fault there, not putting enough people on to it. Had us grafting like navvies, he did.’
Stemper made no comment. ‘I’ll need to speak to your colleagues. Now, tell me how Russell Pearce entered the picture.’
Momentarily confused, Wilson said, ‘The neighbour? I dunno much more than what’s been in the news.’
‘But he came up on your radar?’
‘Only as some perv on the corner, who used to watch her walking past. After that, we kept an eye on him.’
‘Who did?’
‘Whoever was assigned to it. Mainly Dean, I think.’ Wilson had an edge of panic in his voice. ‘I admit, we were a bit worried that maybe he’d seen a few comings and goings at the house. But a guy like that, with his own secrets, he wasn’t gonna go to the cops or anything, was he?’
‘Might have been wise to make sure.’
‘That’s what Dean said. And yeah, maybe we would’ve, in time.’
‘Who’s Dean?’
‘The one that was playing the long game. Not that he stood a chance.’ He snorted. ‘Looks normal enough, but definitely a sandwich short of a picnic, you know?’
Stemper sat forward. ‘Where can I find Dean?’
‘Er. . .’ Wilson scratched his head. ‘He’s supposed to be in London today, on another case—’
‘Watching your client.’
‘Nah, I don’t think so.’
‘Save it. Hamilton’s admitted that he covers all the bases.’ Stemper gave a thin smile. ‘What do you mean, “supposed to be”?’
‘Nothing. Just. . . I called him a couple of times, and he’s not answering his phone.’
53
The cafes in Villiers Street were too busy for Dean’s liking, so they found a dark and gloomy pub, the narrow interior so oppressively hot that virtually all its patrons were standing on the pavement outside. Dean encouraged Jen to have a stiff drink, but when she insisted that a Diet Coke was fine, he ordered the same for himself.
The few minutes it took to order and get settled at a table were an agony of frustration. Jen was thrumming with a nervous energy that meant she couldn’t sit still. Dean regarded her with an air of exasperation, and said, ‘You’ve got nothing to fear from me. Quite the opposite.’
‘How do you expect me to take your word for that? You’ve kidnapped my son.’
He pouted at her. ‘If that was true, I’d hardly be here now, would I?’
‘I want Charlie. That’s all I care about.’
‘I know. Just hear me out, and if you still feel the same, you might as well call the cops and have me arrested.’ He held out his arms, the wrists facing upwards as if to receive handcuffs. ‘Once I’ve explained, I think you’ll agree that kidnapping Charlie – or hurting you – are absolutely the last things I’d ever do.’
His gaze was earnest, his voice gentle, with a slight accent
that she thought might be from the North West, maybe Cheshire. He had a squarish face and wavy brown hair, parted at the side. His eyes were pale, a greyish blue, and they implored her to believe him.
But Jen wasn’t prepared to give in. She crossed her arms and said, ‘I have to speak to Charlie. If you can’t prove he’s safe, I’m not interested in a word you say.’
‘There’s no need to be like that.’ He took out a phone and made a call. While he waited, he ran a forefinger along his upper lip, wiped the sweat onto the leg of his combat trousers and blew out his cheeks. ‘Hot in here.’
Jen didn’t respond. All that mattered was the call. But Dean tutted, and shook his head. ‘Sorry. She’s a bit notorious for ignoring the phone, but I’ll try again in a minute.’ He brightened, still tapping at the screen. ‘In the meantime, you’ll enjoy this. Look.’
He showed her a video, which seemed to have been taken at the same time as the photo he’d sent earlier. Charlie was delving into his box of French fries, while saying, ‘I’m not allowed to have this every week – not with Mum, anyway. Dad’s okay about it, but Mum says it’s junk.’
Off screen, Dean responded: ‘I’m sure that’s because your mum cares about your health.’
Charlie nodded with what Jen took to be reluctant acknowledgement, only to embark on a little speech: ‘I wish I could be more like her. When I want something that’s bad for me, I find it really hard not to have it. But Mum can be strong and go without – it’s how she’s got to be so fit and she can climb up mountains and walls and stuff, like Spiderman. She’s amazing.’
He stopped abruptly, looking slightly bashful; Jen could hear Dean chuckling as the clip came to an end. Quickly she turned away, covered her face with her hands and bit into her bottom lip until it was close to drawing blood.
She’d never known Charlie to express such admiration for her, so to hear it now, in these circumstances, was completely destabilising. She hadn’t seen him, held him, kissed him for days, and she felt that loss and longing in every cell of her body.
It would be all too easy to cry her eyes out, but Jen was determined not to succumb. In less than twenty-four hours she was due to be charged for a crime she hadn’t committed, and this man across the table was claiming he could help her.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘I want to know how you came to be involved in this.’
‘It’s a job, that’s the simple answer. One I’ve become more and more ashamed of.’ He told her that he’d had a varied career, starting as a police officer in Manchester, then working in the security industry before joining a ‘government organisation’ – though he turned vague about which department and what, exactly, he did for them. Most recently he’d opted for a more challenging role in the private sector.
‘Industrial espionage?’
His eyebrows went up. ‘Go on.’
‘There’s a company in London, called SilverSquare. They’re another of your targets, aren’t they?’
‘You’d make a good detective, Jen.’ He conceded that this was indeed among the services that Hamilton’s company offered to its clients, and admitted that the job wasn’t always easy on the conscience. ‘Not something that troubles my colleagues, to be honest.’
‘But you’re different?’
‘I didn’t used to be, until you. The doubts started creeping in when our efforts drew a blank, but still we had to keep pushing.’
Jen frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘There were various different things. A few tempters, like a car left with the engine running. You ignored it. Then a handbag with the purse visible – you only noticed it once, and handed it straight in.’
‘In the cafe? That was a set-up?’
‘Yes. And it proved you were a good person, not easily corrupted.’
‘That’s what I tried to tell the police,’ she said sadly. ‘Though you got me in the end, didn’t you?’
Nodding awkwardly, he mopped his brow and said, ‘We’d spent weeks preparing the ground with Alex, making sure you kept seeing him. It was a nightmare to coordinate.’
‘So what was the point of him carrying boxes in and out?’
‘So you’d be curious. It’s human nature to love a mystery – you see somebody with a big box and you can’t help but wonder what’s inside. We did dry run after dry run, until we were certain you’d spot the keys falling but wouldn’t be able to raise the alarm till he’d gone. Having him collected sped things up a bit, but even then the first attempt failed.’
‘The first attempt?’ she repeated. ‘I don’t understand. The loss of the keys was reported to the police, the day before I found them.’
‘There was a lot of debate about whether we could risk doing that again. The first time, after you’d walked straight past, Alex had to call the cops – and the Skyway – and tell them he’d found his keys, false alarm, blah blah. We took a chance that the next time round, a week or so later, he’d speak to someone different and no one would think anything of it. And when we saw you popping into work on the Sunday afternoon, it was too good an opportunity to miss.’
‘But what if I’d just taken the keys along to a police station, or put them through the letterbox?’
‘Then we’d have tried other things instead. From what I heard, the operation had a six-figure budget. All kinds of ideas were bandied about.’
His tone had turned distinctly ominous. Jen’s hand trembled as she set her glass down. The scale of the plot against her was difficult to comprehend.
‘Putting the broken figurine in the bin – that was to tempt me into stealing it?’
Dean was squirming. ‘I’m embarrassed to say this, but I used to admire the thoroughness. Like sprinkling bits of wire and glass over the floor, so forensics would find evidence in the soles of your shoes. The aim is to construct an alternative truth, detail by detail, until the target can no longer distinguish between what’s real and what’s false.’
‘I thought I was going mad,’ Jen said. ‘I genuinely started to wonder if I was guilty, and had somehow suppressed the memory.’
‘That’s not uncommon – and it’s very much part of the plan. Each little lie nudges the victim closer to madness, collapse, surrender. . .’
‘How do you do that to someone?’
She’d made an effort to keep the loathing from her voice, but still Dean flinched. He sat rigidly straight, and wiped more sweat off his lip.
‘The fact is, the targets are often extremely unpleasant themselves. They’re greedy, sneaky, dishonest, and they’ve invariably cheated people who are now using us to get back at them. But I recognised that you were different: not a malicious bone in your body. I saw that you’re a loving parent, I saw the bonds you form with your customers at work – like that boy with special needs?’
‘Oscar.’
‘Oscar. The care you take with him, the affection. . .’ He sniffed, and looked close to tears. ‘I knew I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t let them do it.’
‘So why didn’t you warn me? Or sabotage their efforts?’
‘Because they’re very dangerous people. There’s this rule – of deniability – that’s built into everything we do. But it doesn’t mean any of us can just down tools and walk away, let alone try to rebel.’ His gaze flicked nervously towards the doorway. ‘If they find out I’m betraying them, I’m a dead man.’
Dean’s initial plan had been more subtle. His boss, Hamilton, always had an insurance policy, which in this case meant trying to dig up some dirt on Gerard. ‘We had to watch the house occasionally, so I managed to juggle the schedules to get a few shifts there. I was hoping for an opportunity to go inside and search for something to use against him.’
And then, out of the blue, Freddie and Charlie had turned up.
‘Freddie needed money for the taxi, and Gerard was in a steaming temper. I thought then that Charlie might be in danger, so when he saw me and came outside, I acted on instinct and told him I was a friend of yours.’ He looked down, s
hyly, and mumbled, ‘Well, a bit more than a friend, that’s what I hinted. And he asked if I could take him home.’
Jen’s heart ached at that. ‘Why didn’t you? Just get on a train and come to Brighton?’
‘Because, like I say, there’s our safety to consider. They’re keeping tabs on your movements, you know that? Gerard told Freddie he should lend you his car, because they’d put a GPS tracker on it.’
‘You’re joking?’ It was an automatic response, but she was already remembering what Freddie had said: it had been Gerard’s idea to lend her the Audi. And if the same organisation had planted child porn on somebody’s computer, fixing a tracking device to a car wouldn’t pose much of a problem.
‘I’ll check when I get home,’ she said, wondering if this would call his bluff, but Dean nodded fiercely.
‘You should. Lately they’ve eased off the surveillance, because it was clear you knew about them.’
Jen realised that he’d gone from describing the gang as ‘we’ to ‘they’. She took a sip of her drink, then said, ‘You know, I was actually quite relieved when I saw you.’
His eyes lit up. ‘Were you?’
‘I got it into my head that it might be a neighbour of mine. He’s on the run, after killing his wife—’
‘Russell Pearce.’ Dean spat the name out. ‘I saw him once or twice. A total loser.’
‘And a psychopath. It scares me to think he’d been coming on to me, pressuring me to go for a drink.’
‘I wouldn’t have let that happen,’ Dean muttered, and then added, ‘I knew something wasn’t right about him.’
‘It’s dreadful.’ Better to fall back on platitudes than admit to the part she might have played in tipping Pearce over the edge. ‘Could we try to phone Charlie again, please?’
Dean looked slightly peeved, but dialled the number. This time someone answered promptly. ‘Mum, it’s me. I called earlier and you. . . Oh, okay. Don’t worry. I’m with Jen here – Charlie’s mum. She just wants a word with him, can you. . .?’ He paused to listen, then grinned, and clicked his tongue. ‘Oh, is he? No, okay. That would be a bit mean. All right, bye.’
