Snarl

by Celina Grace

  Stuart had his eyes fixed on Angie’s face and he saw the tiny ripple of some kind of emotion go over her face, gone in an instant. She pushed her hair back from her forehead.

  “Not lately,” she said, a trifle coolly.

  There was a moment’s silence. Then Rosie started talking about the protest, how she was sure it was having an effect, they must be getting pissed off with us by now… Stuart kept his eyes on Angie. The mask had come back down over her face and, after a moment, she slid off the wall.

  “Getting a drink,” she said. She gave Stuart a look he couldn’t quite decipher and after a moment, she walked away.

  Stuart hesitated. He wanted to follow Angie and he wanted to know more about this Kitten…. He made up his mind in a split second, no time to dither and walked off after Angie, miming a ‘getting a beer’ motion to James and Rosie. He heard Rosie’s derisive snort behind him and took a moment to wink at her before quickening his pace to keep Angie in view.

  She walked straight past the table of drinks in the kitchen, through to the hallway and turned up the stairs. He saw people, men mostly, turning to stare at her as she passed. He followed her up the stairs, looking at the smooth white skin at the nape of her neck where her hair grew in twin dark points. There was a second, smaller staircase on the landing and Angie climbed that, Stuart following her. The stairs ended in a blue-painted door at the top and beyond the door was what was obviously Angie’s bedroom.

  Stuart paused for a moment in the doorway, getting his bearings. It was difficult because, as he quickly realised, the walls and ceiling were covered in tiny, glittering shards of mirror glass, hundreds of them; a mosaic of reflections, lit only by the candles that stood in the tiny iron heath in the chimney breast. Stuart turned slowly, watching an infinite number of tiny Stuarts turn with him, moving in the mirror pieces. There was hardly any furniture in the room, just a small chest of drawers, a bookcase stuffed with books and a double mattress on the floor, covered with a patchwork quilt. There was a large amount of computer equipment arranged on a desk against the wall, the oversized screen dominating the room. Several video cameras were arranged neatly next to the keyboard. Angie sat cross-legged on the quilt, a small wooden box in her lap, watching him with a small, amused smile.

  “Far out,” said Stuart. He put a finger out to the nearest wall, feeling the individual edges of the mirror pieces. “How long did it take to do?”

  “About ten years,” said Angie absently, occupied in a hunt for something within the wooden box. “No, not really. About three weeks. I was almost blind by the end of it, fiddling with all those tiny little pieces.”

  “Amazing.” Stuart realised what she’d been hunting for as she withdrew it from the box – a small plastic bag half filled with white powder. She looked up and saw him watching.

  “Want some?”

  Stuart didn’t hesitate. “If you can spare it.”

  “Wouldn’t have offered if I couldn’t’.” Angie patted the mattress beside her and Stuart sat down carefully.

  He watched as she shaped the powder into two lines, neat snowy drifts on the top of a CD case. Even after years in the field, he still felt that tremor of anxiety at the thought that he, a police officer, was about to do something illegal. He would still do it, of course, as small a line as he could. The last thing he needed now was to arouse Angie’s suspicion.

  She offered him the CD case and he shook his head. “Ladies first.”

  She grinned and ducked her head and while she was still head down and rubbing her nose, he took the case, whisked the majority of one line off of the surface with his thumb and quickly inhaled the miniscule amount that was left.

  He was hoping that the coke would make Angie open up a little, but when she turned to him with glittering eyes and parted lips, he could see that she had a more wordless activity in mind. He had a second of hesitation, training too strong in him to be able to ditch it without a qualm, but then her lips were on his and her hands on him, and all his thoughts of ethics and morals were swept away in an instant of reckless abandonment.

  Chapter Nine

  Kate and Olbeck began a preliminary check of the building. The house was beautiful, but the horror of what had happened within it somehow tainted its elegance and charm. Kate, climbing the main staircase, was reminded of too many horror films where the victim climbed unknowingly to their doom. The heavy silk and velvet drapes that hung at every window seemed to bulge unpleasantly, as if concealing someone within their folds, waiting to jump out. The rooms and hallways seemed full of too many shadows, even with the bright sunlight outside. She shook herself mentally and told herself not to be so stupid, but ridiculously, she found herself hurrying to stay close to Olbeck as they moved from room to room.

  “Anderton said it’s been searched already, right?” she asked, as they entered what was obviously the master bedroom. It had a four poster bed within it, draped in white linen. The covers were bunched messily at the foot of the bed.

  Olbeck nodded absently, as he surveyed the room. An empty mug stood on one of the bedside tables, beside a stack of books. Kate went over to see what they were. No fiction at all; a pile of learned scientific works and what looked like several PHD theses. Kate checked her gloves were intact and picked one up, flicked to the front page, read a few paragraphs in increasing confusion and put it down again.

  “See, that looks like English but it can’t be, because I can’t understand one word of it.”

  Olbeck grinned. “Well, he’s a boffin, isn’t he? Dorsey, I mean.”

  “Was,” corrected Kate.

  The grin fell from Olbeck’s face. “Yes. Was.” He walked over to the matching bedside cabinet on the opposite side of the bed. Here was a top of the range Kindle, encased in a pink leather case, a half full water glass and a box of tissues. Olbeck opened the cabinet. Shoes, handbags and scarves were thrust in a piled heap within it. He began removing them, piece by piece, placing them neatly on the carpet.

  “Some nice stuff here,” he commented.

  Kate took a look and nodded. “Well, they weren’t exactly short of money, were they? They were loaded, in fact.”

  “Yup.” Olbeck sat back on his heels and looked up at Kate. “Was that the reason for the security guard? Or was it because of MedGen?”

  “Probably the latter. Don’t you think? Lots of rich people around here and I don’t think many of them have on-site security.”

  She held out a hand and pulled Olbeck up onto his feet.

  “Thanks. We’ll have to check.”

  “There’s another thing,” said Kate as they moved onto the next room. “Mary said the door was locked when she arrived, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “But she didn’t mention anything about turning off the alarms. She said she knew the codes, but I’m sure she didn’t say anything about turning off the alarms.”

  Olbeck paused in the doorway to the room next to the Dorseys’ bedroom.

  “Yes, I think you’re right. She didn’t mention that, and she would have done, wouldn’t she? I mean, if the alarms weren’t turned off, they would have gone off after a few moments once Mary had entered the hallway, wouldn’t they?”

  Kate nodded.

  “I would have thought so. So either they weren’t turned on – why? – or they were disabled in some way, or someone who knew the codes turned them off.”

  “I’ll flag that up to Anderton. What else? Should we try and track down the CCTV footage now, leave this search ‘til later?”

  Kate was touched that he was still deferring to her opinion, just as he had when they were true equals. She squeezed his arm. “I think we should. Just imagine if we can get a clear look at the perp. We could have this wrapped up by the end of the day.”

  Olbeck laughed a cynical laugh. “You know how much I would love to believe that. Let’s go, then.”

  They retraced their steps back to the first room they’d come to, the conservatory at the side of the house. They could stil
l hear the flash and whine of the cameras in the drawing room as the SOCOs continued their work.

  “Where would they keep the equipment?” Olbeck asked, as he stood, hands on hips, and stared up at the ceiling, as if it would give him the answer.

  Kate tapped her chin with her finger, thinking. “We should ask Mary Smith. She might know.”

  “Good idea.”

  But when they went back to the kitchen, Mary Smith had already left, carted away to the police station by Theo to make a statement. Kate shrugged when they were told by one of the uniforms.

  “Well, back to looking.” She looked around the room at the few people remaining. “Does anyone know where the CCTV equipment was kept?”

  There were blank looks, shrugs and ‘don’t knows’. One dark-haired officer, who looked as if he was barely out of Hendon, volunteered the information that there were two doors in the corridor outside that might contain what they were looking for. They thanked him and made their way in the direction he’d indicated.

  The corridor was tiled in ancient red floor tiles and the walls were scuffed and marked. There was a rack for wellington boots and a coat stand piled with coats and hats. Kate and Olbeck walked to the end of the corridor which terminated in a small room, stacked with cardboard boxes and odds and ends of furniture, clearly used as nothing more than a store room.

  “This was probably the servants’ hall, in olden times,” said Kate. “Don’t you think? Just off the kitchen.”

  “Probably.” Olbeck glanced around once more and retreated back into the corridor. “How about these doors, here?”

  The first door, when opened, led to a wall cupboard, but when Olbeck opened the second, he gave a satisfied chuckle. “Here we are. Good for that PC, he was right.”

  It was a tiny room, almost a broom cupboard, bare of furniture except for a desk on which stood a bank of blank CCTV screens. Various pieces of equipment were assembled on the top of the desk, all with a suspicious lack of electrical activity.

  “Hmm.” Olbeck peered over the back of the desk and then looked at Kate with a wealth of expression on his face.

  “It’s turned off at the plug?” asked Kate.

  “Got it in one.”

  “Okay…”

  They looked at each other and then both suddenly laughed.

  “What did I say about solving the case by the end of the day?” Kate giggled.

  Olbeck pushed a hand through his hair. “Oh God, you know you jinxed it as soon as you uttered the words. If you hadn’t said anything, we would have walked in here and found everything working perfectly…”

  Kate looked at the blank row of screens and grew sombre again. “Wait a minute,” she said. “Why the hell are they turned off? Why would you run a top-notch security system and not bother to switch it on?”

  “Well, that’s easy,” said Olbeck. “Our perp turned it off. I bet he took the tapes, too.”

  “Tapes? Surely it would be digital?”

  “Well, yes…I suppose. We’ll have to get Tech to look at it. Get your mate over here, what’s his name, Sam. He’ll soon be able to get hold of anything, if it’s there to be got.”

  Kate stood looking at the screens, rubbing her finger along her jaw. “The murderer knew this place,” she said. “He must have done. It took us forever to find this little… cupboard. He must have known where to go.”

  “Not necessarily,” said Olbeck. “We have no idea about times, at this point. He could have been here all night, searched the whole house…although—” He stopped for a minute. “You’re right, in a way. It’s a hell of a risk to come all this way, with this many cameras, on the off chance that you might be able to disable them.”

  “Exactly.”

  They both stood looking at the dead equipment in front of them for a moment longer, as if it would suddenly, spontaneously, spring into life again. Then, almost as one, they turned and said, ”Let’s get going, then,” half laughed at their timing, and left the room, Olbeck shutting the door firmly behind him.

  Chapter Ten

  Stuart was back at the protest the next morning and was unsurprised to see that neither James or Rosie, or even Angie, had made it. Sleeping off massive hangovers, probably. He introduced himself to the middle-aged lady who was behind the leaflet table, whose name was Jane. It was a cold day, with intermittent spitting rain, and no one came along to question or harangue them. After twenty minutes, Stuart decided that he’d be better off, chasing up his new friends.

  Back at his car, he mused over which direction to take. Almost without hesitation, he decided on the direction of the squat. As he drove there, he was uncomfortably aware of just how much he wanted to see Angie. He reflected on what had happened the night before in some disbelief. He would never have thought that he would go that far, actually sleep with someone he had under observation. He was half proud of himself, half aghast. He wanted to tell someone, just to share the secret; that particular secret amongst all the secrets he was having to keep, but he knew that he couldn’t. Who would he tell, anyway? Anderton? His boss? Aloud, he scoffed, shook his head and dismissed the thought. By the time he parked the car outside the scruffy house, he was firmly back into character.

  He wanted to walk straight in but caution made him ring the doorbell and, when that failed to work, knock on the peeling paint of the front door. After a wait of a few minutes, it was opened by a man – a boy, really – someone who Stuart had never seen before, with curly auburn hair, a half-asleep expression and dressed only in a dirty T-shirt and boxer shorts.

  “Is Angie in?”

  “What?” said the boy, scratching his neck. Then his expression cleared. “Oh, you’re Mike, aren’t you? Angie said you might be coming.”

  Stuart felt a tremor of something: anxiety, or was it anticipation? “She’s in, then?”

  “Yeah. Upstairs.” He said nothing else but stood back to let Stuart into the house.

  Stuart climbed the stairs to Angie’s glittering cave. He expected to find her lolling in bed, possibly naked, but she was standing in the middle of the room, dressed in a white vest and black combat trousers, feet in laced up black plimsolls. She looked… alive, that was the first word that sprang to mind. To Stuart’s eyes, the air around her shimmered for a moment and the casual cocky grin he was wearing dropped off his face within seconds.

  She fixed him with her gaze, her face back to its beautiful blank mask again. Then she smiled and the odd moment of tension was broken.

  “Hello, you,” she said, quite casually.

  “Hi.” Stuart hesitated for a second, crossed the room and took her into his arms. She returned his kiss briefly but voraciously.

  “Were you going out?” he asked, when he could breathe again.

  “I was,” said Angie. “It can wait, though.”

  This shouldn’t be happening, thought Stuart, even as their clothes fell to the floor. This shouldn’t be happening. I have to stop it. But still he was on the bed with her, under the covers with her, even while he was saying that to himself. I have to stop it, this can’t go on… but then it was useless, the words dropped away and there wasn’t room for any thought at all.

  Afterwards, she lay face down with her head turned from him. He ran a hand down her back, marvelling at the perfection of her skin, that whiteness dusted with golden freckles. He thought she’d fallen asleep and was surprised when she spoke.

  “Where do you live?”

  “London,” Stuart said, briefly. Always stick as closely to the true facts as you can. Angie made an indeterminate noise. “Have you lived here long?” he asked.

  “’Bout six months.” Angie turned her head to look at him and he was struck anew by the perfection of her features. She could be a model, he thought, opened his mouth to tell her and then firmly shut it again, cringing at the thought. What was the matter with him?

  “Where did you live before?”

  Angie shrugged with one shoulder. “With a friend.”

  She said it in a ne
utral tone but Stuart was surprised at the sudden spurt of jealousy he felt. Better get over that, and quickly…

  “So, when you’re not protesting, what do you do?” he asked, changing the subject

  “I’m an artist.”

  Inwardly Stuart rolled his eyes. Of course she was. “What kind of art? Paintings, you mean?”

  Angie smiled. “All sorts of art. Multi-media, mostly. Digital and video, and sound combined with physical media.”

  “Right,” said Stuart, none the wiser.

  Angie’s mouth quirked up at the corner. “This room is one of my works, you know.”

  Stuart looked around him. The curtains were shut and the mirror pieces glittered dimly through the half-darkness.

  “It’s a piece of work, all right.” He raised an arm slowly and lowered it, watching the infinite tiny reflections in the mirror pieces. Angie rested her head on her arm and watched him, still smiling.

  “You know they say that you shouldn’t get between two mirrors,” she said. “It’s bad luck.”

  “Why?” asked Stuart, still watching his arm in the mirrors.

  Angie rolled onto her back. “I don’t know. Perhaps because it drags out a piece of your soul.”

  “Right,” said Stuart, grinning. “I’ll risk it.”

  “Well, you have to have a soul in the first place.”

  “Is that right?” asked Stuart. “Are you saying I don’t?”

  She shook her head, smiling that closed, secretive smile again. “No, you’re all right,” she said. Then she said, in the same voice, “I don’t have one.”

  “One what?”

  “A soul.” She rolled to face him. They were eye to eye for a breathless, hushed moment while her words reverberated around the silent room. Then Stuart laughed and Angie laughed and the tension was broken.

  “So,” said Stuart, keeping his tone very casual, “How did you get mixed up with all the protests, then?”

  Angie kept her eyes fixed on him. She smiled a little. “Mixed up?”

  “Yeah. I mean, how did you get into it in the first place?”