by Simon Hall
‘Are you ready to talk now?’ Adam asked abruptly.
‘No comment.’
‘Then do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions? There are some things I’d like to know.’
‘No comment.’
He let the silence run, then said quietly, ‘Why did you betray us, Linda?’
‘Don’t give me that,’ she shot back. ‘You betray yourselves.’
‘How?’
‘No comment.’
‘Osmond?’
She glared at Adam. Dan sensed she was balanced between a desire to talk, to justify herself, and another to stay quiet.
‘Osmond?’ prompted Adam again. ‘Did you know?’
‘Yeah, I knew,’ she said finally. ‘Some of the younger cops confided in me. I raised it with my bosses. And guess what? It was hushed up and swept under the bloody carpet. They all look after each other, that lot. That’s what we were exposing. Now, no comment.’
‘Why the faked suicide?’ asked Adam.
‘No comment.’
‘I’m guessing it’s because you thought Sarah might get caught, and you had to be free to carry on the game? Being dead is a good way to be beyond suspicion. You took a little of your own blood and left it on the rock, to look like you’d hit your head when you jumped, didn’t you? To help convince us you were dead. That was a nice touch, Linda.’
‘You might think that, but no comment.’
‘But why do it anyway? Why not stay inside the force, quietly, to keep an eye on our attempts to solve the case? Wouldn’t that have been more useful to you?’
A snort.
‘What does that mean, Linda? Apart from contempt?’
‘No comment. Except – Osmond.’
The detective nodded slowly. ‘I see. If the allegations about him had been made on their own, they might have been ignored. He could have hushed it up, bluffed it out – again. But after your “suicide”, because of what we thought the blackmailer knew about you, we’d have to take another attack on a cop much more seriously, wouldn’t we?’
‘No comment.’
‘You used your reputation, didn’t you? Because you were popular and respected, you knew your “death” would galvanise us, your fellow cops, to try to find the blackmailer. You knew it’d mean the claims against Osmond would be thoroughly investigated, and he’d be exposed. And likewise with the others in the book. There’d be no chance of them using their influence and power to cover it all up. That was the reason for your “suicide”.’
‘How very clever you are. But no comment.’
‘And Sarah didn’t really have anything on you, did she? You weren’t sent any blackmail note. We thought it was so awful you’d destroyed it, but there wasn’t one. You were just in it together. You left that suicide note so we would believe there was a riddle set for you, you’d solved it and you wanted to help us by leaving it behind.’
‘Still no comment.’
‘And that stuff about the ‘dogging’. That was rubbish. It was Sarah who made the call to us, wasn’t it? To make sure we weren’t on your track. To give us a good reason to explain why you might kill yourself, so we wouldn’t suspect you’d faked your death.’
‘No comment.’
‘Just like it was Sarah who rang in to report your “suicide” in Cornwall?’
‘No comment.’
‘And that bomb hoax in Plymouth city centre. I’m guessing Sarah planted the rucksack. It could hardly have been you. Someone might have recognised you. It was part of your little game, wasn’t it? To give us notice of what was coming. And to have another little laugh at us.’
‘No comment.’
‘Where’s the Judgement Book, Linda?’
‘No comment.’
‘Am I in it? Is Dan?’
‘You’ll find out one day. And maybe sooner than you think. But for now no comment.’
‘What do you mean, sooner than you think?’
‘No comment.’
Dan could hear the words echoing from the bare bricks. “Sooner than you think.”
Adam was right. They would never be safe until they found the Book.
The detective sat back on his chair. ‘There are just a couple of things that still puzzle me, Linda. I can see your motive now, and I can see how you did it. But why throw away your house and life in England? If you’d got away with it, you could never stay here.’
‘No comment.’
‘I know you didn’t have any family, and not even many friends. Were you lonely?’
‘No comment.’
‘Was this all a cry for attention?’
Linda rolled her eyes. ‘Is this going to go on much longer?’
‘Until I get some answers.’
‘Then try this. No comment.’
‘I’m guessing you were so disillusioned with life here that you were going to go abroad. Start again. And maybe send us some letter, or video, as another taunt.’
‘How very wonderfully perceptive you are. But no comment.’
‘What brought you and Sarah together in the first place?’
‘No comment.’
‘You know how police officers get treated in prison, don’t you, Linda? You know what will happen to you?’
‘No comment.’
‘Even in a women’s prison dreadful things happen to police officers.’
‘No comment.’
Adam stared at her. She looked back, expressionless.
‘You were a colleague, Linda,’ Adam said, and Dan thought he sounded genuinely saddened. ‘A highly regarded colleague. We’re not all corrupt and idle you know. Some of us work hard, believe in what we do and try to do it well. Perhaps you should recognise that and give us a chance to find your Judgement Book?’
‘You have your chance. Remember your initial thoughts. They’d be dead right. Now, no comment.’
Adam stood up. ‘OK, that’s enough. We’re getting nowhere. We’ll get you to the cells and leave you to think about your future.’
She shrugged. Dan stared at her, thought fast. Again that emphasis on the word dead. He was sure it was significant. But how? And how to get to her?
‘Linda,’ he said and she looked over, her face full of contempt. He could see exactly what she thought of him and it settled his mind. ‘Was it the old story? Were you and Sarah lovers?’
Her face creased into a slow snarl. ‘No we bloody weren’t. Only a disgusting bloke like you would think that. You foul hacks love your sleaze, don’t you? You’re as bad as all those others we exposed. Your fantasy is it, two women together?’
‘All men though, weren’t they?’
‘What?’
‘They were all men you exposed. No women.’
‘So?’
‘So – why might that have been?’
She glared at him, slowly shook her head. ‘Maybe it was because it was all men who were the corrupt ones. I’m so sorry to disappoint your sordid little fantasy, but it’s this simple. Sarah and me were just two people who shared a purpose. If you really want to know, Sarah approached me after I’d had a meal at the Judge. I’d been moaning to a friend about corruption in the force and she wanted to know if I would like to help her to do something about it. I did and I’m proud of it. That’s all there is to it.’
Dan nodded. It was time to try his last question, but even now he knew it was hopeless. She was angry with him, even genuinely disgusted, but she was in full control.
‘And where’s the Judgement Book?’
Linda smiled coldly, looked back and forth from Dan to Adam. ‘You’d love to know, wouldn’t you? So you could sleep safely at last. But I’m afraid that’s to be denied you, unless you can prove yourselves worthy by solving the clues. And it’s written all over your faces that you can’t. So, no comment – or rather, no further comment except this …’
She paused, that emotionless smile still on her face. Dan leaned forward, wondering what she would say, couldn’t help himself. He sensed Adam was doing the same.
And when at last the words came there were only three, but they were vicious and penetrating, summed up exactly what they would both go through, today, tomorrow and for countless days to come, until the guillotine blade that hung above them finally fell.
‘Enjoy your torment.’
Chapter Twenty-seven
THE FINAL BRIEF HOPE was extinguished as soon as they walked back into the MIR. Eleanor and Michael looked up from the laptop and pile of books they were working on. Each slowly shook their head. No one spoke. No words were necessary.
Adam sat on the edge of a desk, studying the floor. Dan pulled out a chair, slumped into it, stretched out his legs. They felt painfully heavy. He was aware of the dull pounding of a headache gathering momentum in a corner of his mind.
At least they’d resolved one question, something which had been bothering him from the start. The blackmail notes and their intentions. From the first one, there was a sense of a dual purpose, almost a confusion, about the crime. It was as if the Worm, as they thought of the blackmailer then, wanted to taunt her victims, but also give them a chance to solve the clues and save themselves.
Dan wondered if he should have seen it before. There was not one blackmailer, but two, and both with slightly different agendas. And as in the rest of life, be it the infamous working party, focus group or sub-committee so beloved of the bureaucrats, they’d reached a compromise over exactly what it was they were trying to achieve.
Both wanted to make their statement, and that they certainly had. But Sarah was the one more filled with anger, keener to taunt, while Linda, as had been her reputation in the police, was fairer, and felt the need to give the victims a chance, albeit so very slight.
It was effectively a composite crime, the first time he’d faced one. Dan told himself he would write it down in his diary later, to remind him in case he came up against anything like it again.
But then struck the ruthless impact of reality. He would never be working on another case. Soon he would be sacked, as would Adam too.
His head thudded anew, and Dan heard himself let out a low groan.
The atmosphere in the room was stale and rank, the air thick and heavy. Dan looked across at the windows, the reddening sun settling on the western horizon, but couldn’t find the strength to get up and let in some air. His eyes found the picture of Linda Cott on the felt boards, her expression impassive, as though she was monitoring them with scientific detachment, mere ants she had provoked to run around hopelessly as part of a grand experiment. He expected to feel anger or hate, but nothing came. There was only numbness.
Michael’s laptop let out an electronic warble. Adam’s head snapped up. ‘Got something?’
The young man hesitated, then replied softly, ‘No. It’s just telling me it’s finished its program. It hasn’t found a thing.’
‘Nothing at all?’
There was a silence, then Eleanor stood, smoothing her flowing skirt. ‘I’m afraid not. We haven’t found even a hint about what the answer to their last riddle could be.’
‘And you’ve tried everything?’
Adam’s voice was hoarse with tiredness. Eleanor took a couple of steps towards him, laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. ‘Yes. Everything we’ve got. Everything we can think of. We’ve looked through all the blackmail letters for any kind of hints or patterns, anything to do with initials or death. We haven’t managed to find a thing.’
Dan screwed his eyes shut, tried to focus. He picked through the memories of each note, the death of Freedman, the bill poster, the plane’s banner exposing Osmond, the letters to Robinson and Sinclair, the interviews with Sarah and Linda, but no thoughts, no ideas, not even any possibilities came to him. He felt as though he just wanted to sleep, to slip away and find some brief refuge from this never-ending … the word formed fast, despite his attempts to resist it.
The word Cott had used, and from which he knew he could not escape. The word which would keep returning to him.
Torment.
Every day knowing the Book was hidden somewhere, full of your destructive secrets. Every day expecting it to be found and its festering contents revealed. Every day expecting it to end your career in a blaze of scandal. And always knowing that one day, be it sooner or later, it would surely happen.
Torment.
Adam’s low voice interrupted Dan’s thoughts. ‘Then we’re done, aren’t we?’
Eleanor managed a sympathetic smile, but it was brief. ‘I don’t think there’s anything more we can do. I wouldn’t be surprised if there is no final riddle, just a last way to taunt us.’
‘Well it’s bloody working!’ Adam snapped.
Eleanor looked surprised, and the detective apologised. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just – this case, I think it’s got to me. It’s felt as if they’ve been ahead of us in everything. And even when we do seem to get a break, to be getting somewhere, they’re ready for us. It’s felt so hopeless. And so bloody personal.’
‘I understand,’ said Eleanor gently. ‘But for what it’s worth, I think you did everything you could.’
Adam didn’t reply, just went back to studying the floor. Eleanor packed up her pile of books, then said, ‘If it’s all right with you, we’d better be going. There’s another case where it looks like we’re needed.’
Adam nodded, got up, shook Michael’s hand and gave Eleanor a hug. Dan did likewise. He wondered if Adam was thinking the same as him. Whether they’d ever work together, perhaps even see each other, again.
The door clicked shut.
Dan wondered what to do, whether to try to talk to his friend, but sensed he wanted to be left alone. He walked over to the window, stared out at the sunset. The day’s death throes were lighting the land a bloody red, the fading sun slipping fast below the horizon. Thoughts of Claire again started to form, the sunset walks they’d enjoyed together, and Dan instinctively blocked them. He tried to think instead of the blackmailers’ final riddle. They had to find a way to solve it.
Nothing came. The numbness persisted. He bowed his head and let out a low groan.
The door swung open, crashing into the wall. Dan spun round, startled. Osmond hobbled into the MIR. He was glowing with sweat and panting.
‘Have you found it, Breen?’
Adam looked up wearily. ‘Found what?’
‘Don’t play your bloody games with me, man! The Book! I saw it on the news.’ He nodded towards Dan. ‘That you’d caught the bastards. But where’s the Book? Where’s the damned Book?’
‘Aren’t you supposed to be suspended – Superintendent?’
‘Don’t give me that crap, man! Where’s the bloody Book?’
Adam stood up quickly, his voice suddenly angry. ‘We don’t know. We don’t have it. We haven’t found it. OK? Your sordid little secrets are still out there somewhere. Now get out of here before I have you thrown out.’
Osmond reached out an arm, went to push at Adam’s chest, but the detective grabbed his fleshy wrist. He squeezed it hard until the hand whitened under the pressure, then pushed it away.
‘Go home,’ Adam growled. ‘Before I let myself tell you what I really think of you.’
Osmond glared at him, then turned for the door. He paused and shot back, ‘You’re a loser, Breen. A no-hoper. You know shit about policing. They’ve been running rings around you. You’re pathetic.’
The door slammed shut behind him. Adam stared at it for a moment, then walked over to the window and uttered a word Dan had never heard him use before.
‘Wanker.’
They watched the setting sun in silence. Dan glanced at his friend. His eyes were red and looked swollen. In the years they’d known each other, through all the traumatic cases they’d worked on, for the first time he sensed Adam was close to tears. Dan felt a sudden need to help, to lift his spirits, to do anything to stop that. It was as if the last barrier to despair was breaking. If the detective cried Dan knew it would take him too, and he wondered where it could possibly stop.
Adam snorted, said only, ‘Yeah.’
The last lines of sun disappeared, the sky now darkening fast, ready to welcome the coming night. An occasional star began a faint shine.
‘So?’ Dan asked.
‘So what? There is no so. There’s nothing. We’ve got no leads, no hope of finding the Book. It just sits wherever it is, hidden, until …’
Adam didn’t need to finish the sentence.
‘But – there must be something. Surely – something …’
‘What? How? Have you got any ideas?’
Dan breathed out heavily. ‘No. But we can’t just give up. We can’t go on every day knowing the Book’s out there, waiting to be revealed.’
‘Can’t we? What choice have we got?’
Dan couldn’t find any words to answer.
‘Then –’ said Adam, turning from the window and heading for the door. ‘Then, I think we’d better start getting used to it.’
Back in his flat, Dan lay on his great blue sofa watching a flock of clouds chase each other across the glass expanse of his bay window. Their undersides were lit with streaks of silver from the reflected glow of the city. He counted them as they sped past, urged on by the breeze that had bustled in with the evening.
He told himself when he got to a hundred, he’d decide how to reply to the text message from Claire. His phone lay on the coffee table, neatly placed in the corner, and occasionally he would reach out and touch it lightly. Dan kept counting the clouds. A century came and went, then another, and still he didn’t move. He was hardly aware of the time passing. Only Rutherford’s insistent wet nose on his drooping hand made him stir. He got up automatically, let the dog out into the flat’s garden and forced himself to look again at the phone. He heard Claire’s voice as he read the words.
“I’m sorry, so very sorry. I’m in such a state I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m scared to call you, but please can we talk?”
Dan felt assailed by emotions. He didn’t know whether to call her, go to her and hold her or scream at her to fuck off and never contact him again, never ring him, never come near him. He longed to erase her from his memory, his history, forget her name, that she had even once existed in his life. He imagined painting over the last two years in his mind until there was no sign, no hint of what had once been. He wished he could be like a computer, hit just a couple of buttons and the contents of its brain were gone for ever, clean and ready to start anew.
