‘Good. You’ll be used to reading then.’ He pointed to three stacks of papers on a side table. ‘You can start with them. I’ve got more important things to do than read bumf from the Home Office all day. Come back in the morning and you can tell me what’s in it.’
After this welcome, Liz reckoned things would have to get better. She was wrong. By her third day she had acquired a nickname – Mata Hari – but not much else in the form of contact with her new workmates, whose initial curiosity was swiftly followed by the hazing rituals of an American college fraternity. The first morning when Liz went to the desk she had been allocated, she found a large cigar lying on the desk top. An hour later when she came back with a cup of muddy coffee from the vending machine in the hall, she found that someone had moved the cigar suggestively to the seat of her chair. While the men around her watched surreptitiously she broke the cigar in half and threw it in the wastepaper basket.
The next morning another cigar was in place. Again Liz threw it away, and this time she said loudly, without looking around, ‘I hope you boys can put cigars on expenses. If this goes on, it’s going to cost you a fortune.’
All week she ate lunch alone and saw no one after work. The only other woman in the office, the typist for DI Avery, was a middle-aged woman called Nellie who came in at exactly nine in the morning and left at precisely five at night. She had clearly never read Germaine Greer or heard of sister-solidarity; she made a point of ignoring Liz.
Not all the men joined in the harassment. Some just ignored her and one in particular was quite polite – McManus, a tall, sharp-featured detective sergeant who dressed better than the others.
The work itself was dull, a relentless progress through mind-bogglingly dense papers from the Home Office. Liz was desperate to get her teeth into something real; otherwise she would finish her secondment without knowing any more about how a police force ran than she had when she came. She resented Avery’s using her as an intellectual dogsbody, covering his back in case some civil servant expected a response to one of the documents sent seemingly by the truckload from Whitehall and Scotland Yard.
The harassment persisted, though not any longer with cigars. Purvis, a tall man with a dimple in his chin, seemed particularly intent on making Liz feel unwelcome. ‘Ask our new graduate colleague,’ he would say when someone had a question at the weekly briefing meeting.
Liz ignored this as best she could, but it made for stressful working hours, and she wasn’t sure how long she could put up with it in silence. Part of her was determined not to let these bastards get to her; another part wanted to run back to London. Then one morning she arrived to find a bundle of dirty shirts on her desk, with a note pinned to them. Washed, ironed and folded by Thursday please. She felt the eyes of the room upon her as she stood by her desk. Suddenly furious, she picked up the shirts, walked over to the open window and dumped them out into the alley below.
And then things changed – whether because she’d shown she’d had enough or because some of the men had begun to feel embarrassed, she never knew. As her third week in Liverpool was drawing to a close, she was sitting looking at what seemed an undiminished stack of typescript pages when McManus stopped beside her desk. ‘That looks interesting,’ he said, pointing at a Home Office circular on top of the pile.
She looked up at him warily. ‘It’s absolutely entrancing,’ she said dryly. ‘I’d be happy to tell you all about it.’
‘No, thanks.’ McManus paused for a moment, and she watched him as he seemed to be making up his mind about what to say next. He was a good-looking man – and he seemed to know it. Not my type, Liz told herself; her last boyfriend had been a gentle guitar player at Bristol. Besides, McManus must have been fifteen years older than she was. There was no way she was interested in him.
‘Fancy joining us on a little mission?’ he said lightly. ‘Or are you chained to your desk?’
‘I’m just following orders,’ she said, nodding towards Avery’s office.
‘Boss is in Manchester today, so why don’t you come along?’
She hesitated, but anything was better than reading any more bumf. ‘OK. What is it?’
‘I’ll explain in the car.’
Outside they joined two detective constables, Cardew and Purvis, who looked surprised when McManus explained Liz would be joining them. He added, ‘You boys go ahead. We’ll see you there.’
Cardew, who Liz suspected had been the wolf whistler on her first appearance in the office, rolled his eyes. McManus gave him a look and he and Purvis stomped off to their car.
McManus drove her in his black Range Rover away from the Docks and towards the eastern suburbs of the city. It was unseasonably warm and Liz put her window down as the evening turned from dusk to dark. The smoky yellow of sodium lights lined the streets in glowing dots. They climbed a bit and were going past a series of large institutional-looking buildings, a few modern but mostly Victorian. ‘Where are we?’ asked Liz.
‘The university,’ said McManus. After a pause, he added, ‘I was there.’
‘Really? What did you read?’
‘Business studies. It seemed the practical thing to do. I’m a local lad – my dad was first-generation Paddy, and worked on the docks till they closed. I didn’t know what I wanted to do; I just wanted to get out from his way of life.’
‘Why did you join the police then?’
‘Because I was bored by business.’ He turned his head and gave a wry smile. ‘If I’d stuck with it I’d have gone mad before I was thirty.’
Liz laughed, and McManus said, ‘Where’d you grow up?’
She explained, and he said, ‘Sounds very posh. Your dad a grandee?’
‘No, he just worked for one.’ This time McManus laughed. They were in the suburbs now, tree-lined streets with large detached houses. ‘This is what I was aiming for,’ he said, gesturing around them.
‘Aren’t you still?’
He shook his head. Liz said, ‘What’s changed?’
‘It’s called maintenance,’ he said with a trace of bitterness. But then his tone changed and he was all business. ‘I’m meeting an informant. He’s just over from Belfast; the RUC’s passed him on to us.’
‘You sound doubtful.’
McManus nodded. ‘I am. He’s a tricky little sod.’
‘How so?’
‘His RUC handler said they were never sure how reliable his information was. They had doubts about his real allegiances – nothing they could put their finger on. He seemed to provide just enough to keep them interested but not enough to be really useful. They were pretty sure he could have given more if he’d wanted to. They’ve sent him over here to see what we make of him. He’s supposed to be getting alongside the Provo sympathisers here.’
He pulled the car over and parked at the top of a rise. Down the street a little below them was a small precinct of shops. At the corner there was one still open; it had a retro neon sign Liz could just make out – it said Café Noir. McManus pointed at it. ‘That wine bar’s where we’re going to meet. I’m going to stand by the door smoking and chummy will come past me and go in. I’ll have a look round to check he’s clean then join him – there’s a little room in the back where we can talk. Purvis and Cardew are parked further along that street, watching my back from there. You can watch it as well from up here. I’m not expecting any bother. I’ll leave the keys in case you need to move the car, but whatever you do, don’t drive down the hill.’
‘I thought—’ Liz began to say, but McManus had already opened the door and was halfway out of the car.
He said, ‘Won’t be long.’ And he slammed the door and began striding quickly down the hill towards the wine bar.
Liz sat there, fuming. The paper work in the office was bad enough, but having the promise of something real to do, only to have it snatched away, was worse. Why had McManus brought her here if it was only to leave her in the car while he met this informant? He already had two detectives watching his back – th
ough it seemed a bit unprofessional to have them both in the same place – so he didn’t need her as well. And what if she did see anything? She had no way of contacting him to warn him. Maybe he’d brought her along to find out more about her so that he could pass it on to the others. Yet he didn’t seem that kind of man. So what exactly was he doing?
McManus had almost reached the wine bar now, and he stopped and casually lit a cigarette. He lounged by the entrance, studying the menu in the window. There was no sign of his contact, or anyone else – the street was deserted.
Then she heard footsteps on the pavement behind the car. Two sets. She grabbed her bag and rummaged through it, keeping her head down in case she was noticed sitting alone in a parked car and someone got the wrong idea. The footsteps had reached the car now, but thankfully they didn’t slow down, just went on past. Slowly she lifted her head and saw two men wearing short leather jackets, jeans and trainers. They looked young and fit. She wondered if they were plainclothes policemen – but these two weren’t Purvis and Cardew, and McManus hadn’t mentioned any other backup.
A car came up towards her from down the hill, and as its headlights swept across the pavement she saw the two men suddenly stop and tuck themselves into some bushes growing at the front of someone’s garden. The car went past and the two men continued down the hill. They didn’t want to be seen; Liz wondered why. Unless they weren’t police at all.
The two men stopped again and exchanged a few words. They were still only about forty yards ahead of Liz, and she watched as one of them crossed the street. The other one waited for a moment; he was out of the direct light of the street lamp but she could see him clearly enough. He had his hand behind his back and as he brought it round something glinted momentarily, and she caught on: it was a handgun. He held it for a moment then tucked it away under his jacket.
She hesitated. Was it a gun? Could they be plainclothes police? If it was and they weren’t, there was no time to waste. The two men were now halfway between her and McManus, still outside the wine bar. They would reach him in a couple of minutes.
Liz slid over behind the wheel and turned the keys in the ignition. The engine responded right away. She turned on the side lights and pulled out into the street, coasting down the hill. As she passed the two men, one on each side of the street, she tensed, half expecting them to fire at her. They were striding quickly now and the one on the right-hand pavement had pulled his gun and was carrying it in his hand openly.
As she passed them she suddenly switched on the headlights full beam, blinding a van coming up the other way, and as she picked up speed she began hitting the horn so it sounded loudly in short warning beeps.
When she reached the wine bar she braked hard, coming to a sudden halt just in front of the entrance. She reckoned she was seventy or eighty yards in front of the men. McManus was looking startled. She pushed the button and the window on the passenger side came down. She yelled, ‘Get in quick.’
‘What the hell—?’ he said.
‘There’s a couple of gunmen just behind me. For God’s sake, get in.’
McManus looked over the top of the car back up the hill. The two men had stopped; they must have been uncertain what was happening. By now Purvis and Cardew had seen the commotion and came roaring up from the other direction.
‘What’s going on, Guv?’
McManus was shouting into the car radio, calling out an armed team. He broke off to yell at the two men, ‘Up the hill. Two of them. Get up there now. See if you can follow them but hang back – one of them’s got a gun, possibly both. Armed response is on the way. Keep in touch.’
‘Park up there,’ he said to Liz, pointing to a space in front of the line of shops.
‘Shouldn’t we help go after them?’
He shook his head. ‘No. A gun fight’s no place for you. Anyway, odds are they’ll be gone. I need to wait here in case chummy shows. Though that seems a bit unlikely now.’
‘You think he set you up?’
He nodded. ‘Must have. Unless he’s blown and they were after him. If he doesn’t turn up we’ll know which it is. Either way, he’s not going to be any more use. I’d give you odds he’s safely back in Ireland by now, thinking he’s helped assassinate a Special Branch officer.’
They sat in silence then, too shaken to talk, McManus keeping his eyes on the street ahead, while Liz kept a lookout behind through the rear-view mirror. It must have been ten minutes before a car pulled up in front, and Cardew and Purvis got out.
Cardew came over and spoke through the open window of the passenger seat. ‘No trace. The boys are out combing the streets but it looks as if they’ve got clean away. We don’t know the car and we’ve got no description so there’s not much chance. Jesus, Guv, we were wondering what the hell Mata Hari was doing, driving down like that.’
McManus stared at him. ‘She was saving my life, Officer, while you were sitting picking your toes. And don’t call her Mata Hari. Her name is Liz.’
Chapter 6
Word spread quickly in the Special Branch office that Liz had saved McManus’s skin and the atmosphere got a lot more friendly; even Nellie the typist began to talk to her. When Avery stopped offloading Whitehall’s paperwork onto her and started asking her to analyse the intelligence reports coming in from Belfast to see if they threw up any leads to local activity, she felt that at last she’d been accepted as someone who might have something useful to contribute.
That wasn’t all that changed. Looking back on it now, she supposed it had been inevitable that after their run-in with the IRA she and McManus would be drawn together. Their shared danger formed a bond which at first made them friends, and then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, something more than friends.
It didn’t happen right away. McManus was cautious about getting involved with the Spook, the woman from MI5, and at first he was just cordial. Three days after the drama of what they now all accepted had been an assassination attempt, he casually asked her to join him for a drink – but when she walked into the pub she saw that Purvis and Cardew were sitting at the table with him. A week later he asked her again, this time on his own, but before he’d even got her a drink, he was called on his mobile and had to go – an informant had been arrested for benefits fraud and he had to sort things out.
A few days later she had left her car at a local garage for its MOT on her way to work and to her annoyance the garage had rung late in the afternoon to say the car wouldn’t be ready until the next day. She was waiting for a bus down the street from the office when a man’s voice called out, ‘Want a lift?’
She turned, ready to tell the man to buzz off, when she saw it was McManus at the wheel of a smart Audi. He lifted his hands in mock-surrender. ‘Don’t shoot. It’s only me.’
She laughed. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Looking for damsels in distress. Hop in.’
‘What happened to the Range Rover?’ she asked as she got in.
‘Strictly for operations,’ he said, as he accelerated away. ‘This one’s mine. Now where are you going?’
When she told him he gave a little groan. ‘That’s a very respectable address.’
‘Well, of course,’ she replied with a grin. ‘I’m a very respectable person. The lady who owns the house is the widow of some former contact of the Service. I don’t know the details. I’ve got a couple of rooms on the top floor.’
‘I bet she watches you like a hawk. That can’t help your social life.’
Liz suppressed the temptation to ask, What social life?
‘Tell you what,’ said McManus, glancing sideways at Liz, ‘why don’t you come back to my place for a drink? Then I’ll run you home,’ he added quickly, as if he didn’t want to scare her off.
He accelerated past a dawdling queue of cars, his eyes straight ahead. Liz considered what to say. She sensed her answer was going to make a big difference to her relationship with McManus, and she wasn’t sure it was a step she wanted to t
ake. But then she thought of what otherwise awaited her that evening in her flat – a quick glass of mediocre wine, a shallow bath (the hot water tank was minute), followed by a solitary microwaved supper, a little television, a couple of chapters of the disappointing thriller she was reading, and lights out. Not a very exciting prospect.
So she said, ‘OK. Thanks.’
Looking back, she supposed the whole affair wasn’t surprising. McManus was an attractive figure to a young woman. Good-looking, confident, mature – he could see Liz was pretty inexperienced and hadn’t been around much and he enjoyed showing her the town. He knew Liverpool like the back of his hand: from the industrial wastelands to the newly fashionable dockland; from the gentility of its grandest suburbs to clubs so rough that even the bouncers were scared of the clientele; from fancy French restaurants where the city’s famous footballers spent £1,500 on a bottle of wine they couldn’t pronounce to the bingo hall where he said his mother had been a habituée. Wherever they went the proprietor knew the Special Branch detective, and treated him with respect.
Liz was less certain what McManus saw in her. She sometimes wondered if in other circumstances he would have given her a second look. Observing the admiring glances he attracted from women of all sorts, from restaurant cloakroom girls to the chic owner of an upmarket boutique, she knew that he could have had his choice of women. But circumstances were what they were, and the simple fact remained that she had probably saved his life. If his interest in her arose out of gratitude, Liz couldn’t really object, since she was also grateful to him.
It was an intense affair, and for all the excitement of their social life, what really kept the two together was a mutual commitment to their work. Liz had already discovered a capacity for immersion in the job, and now that Avery had given her something substantial to do, she was interested and intent on doing it well. But she was nothing like McManus. As she quickly discovered, life for him was filtered through work. In the pubs and restaurants they visited, his conversations with the manager were information-gathering exercises. Even when they were most relaxed – a walk on the beach, a quiet meal in a country pub where no villain had ever set foot – McManus was alert, noticing anything out of the ordinary, any behaviour in the least bit strange. This was the first time Liz had experienced something that she later encountered often in her colleagues and indeed learned to practise herself, the acute awareness of one’s surroundings of the true intelligence officer.
Close Call Page 3
