Power Shift

by Judith Cutler

  ‘That bloody Home Office bumf. OK. One of my lads’ll come and collect you. And, unlike your young man, he did pass that course.’

  She laughed. ‘One thing, sir, thanks for the security lock. Someone’s fixing it now.’

  ‘Can’t think why it was never done before. I know you’re really just an admin outpost but you can’t take risks, these days. Shouldn’t have, in the past. Anyway, young Henry will be along shortly. What’s the code, so he can let himself in? Just for the record, he’s twenty-eight, six foot six and a fine fast bowler.’

  She’d skim-read another document when she heard Mrs Speed getting on her high horse. Not a row with Jill Todd, please. She’d better sort it whatever it was before it grew unmanageable.

  But it wasn’t Jill Mrs Speed was bridling at. It was a young black man toting more Rasta dreadlocks than she’d seen for a long time. Gold chains, gold rings, the coolest suit. Did this guy have street cred!

  ‘It’s all right, Kathleen, this my chauffeur for the day.’

  Kathleen’s eyes widened. ‘He hasn’t even produced his ID!’

  ‘But he fits Mr Oxnard’s description—six foot six, twenty-eight and a brilliant fast bowler. That’s right, isn’t it?’

  Henry shook his head. ‘Got it wrong there, man. Leg spin.’

  ‘I know it’s only a computer version, not one of those fully realised reconstructions that those characters in Manchester do, but I thought it was pretty good,’ Rod said. He moved the mouse, making the head turn to different angles. ‘It’s very

  clever. Look, we can make his hair recede—so. Or give him a :

  little moustache. What do you think?’

  ‘I’m impressed. But I have a nasty sneaking suspicion that I know what’s going to happen to it next. It’s going on a journey. You’re going to equip me with a disk and a laptop and send me out to wherever Natasha is lurking. Right? Yes?’

  ‘Right in concept, wrong in detail. But first we’ll have some lunch. Breakfast was a long time ago. And supper may not be all that soon. Come on, let’s sample the delights of the canteen. No, on the other hand, let’s sample the delights of a quiet pub. But we’ll leave via the car park.’

  They walked so briskly she was afraid of losing her breath, the cold air cramming into her lungs. They flashed down underpasses, wheeled round corners.

  ‘Hey,’ she gasped, ‘have you taken some advanced-walking qualification?’

  Grinning—perhaps he didn’t have any spare breath either—he grabbed her hand and walked even faster.

  ‘A Bible? Why should I be carrying a Bible? Gaffer,’ she added belatedly.

  ‘Because we want you to look like a God-botherer—the sort that ring people’s front doors just as they’re enjoying a good f—’ Much to her amusement, Oxnard blushed. ‘Henry here will drop you some way down the street. You’ll consult a piece of paper, as if you’re checking for a particular house. And, of course, you’ll find it, greeting the person opening the door like a long-lost cousin.’

  She flashed an underlash glance at Rod: it wasn’t so very long ago, when they’d been undercover briefly together, that he’d had to masquerade as her cousin. He flickered a glance back. So he remembered his extremely uncousinly behaviour too.

  She and Henry set off as instructed, this time in a beat-up old Metro with a Christian fish on the back. ‘Where did you get this poor old thing?’

  ‘It like de wan my ol’ granny, she drive, and she go to de meeting hall every day de wik.’

  ‘Poor Granny. Does hers pong of dog?’

  ‘Loathes the things. Point is, you can’t have Christians who tithe their incomes driving latest-reg Vectras—not if you wish to be convincing.’ His accent had disappeared wherever it had sprung from.

  They’d sent down line the software needed to run the clever three-D visuals, so all Kate had to do was bring it up on Meg’s laptop to show the three women in the safe-house. There was no doubt about it: the face was sufficiently like Natasha’s putative rescuer for her to dissolve into fresh tears.

  Kate e-mailed her colleagues the news so that they could narrow their London-based search. What taxed everyone most was how many other drivers might still be involved. A watch was already set at Manchester market, and the National Crime Squad were rumoured to be interesting themselves in the case.

  ‘We shall get them,’ she told Natasha reassuringly. ‘And the people who attacked your flat,’ she added to Madame Constantinou, who looked every one of her years, and perhaps a few. more.

  ‘Have you seen it yet?’

  Kate shook her head. ‘Only what I saw yesterday. But I—’

  ‘Mr Bassett, how is he?’

  Kate flushed: something else she’d failed to follow up. ‘I’ll get the very latest news for you,’ she prevaricated, fishing out her mobile.

  At least other people had been more on the ball. They not only had news of Mr Bassett, they had good news: he’d been allowed to go home. Did Kate want his home phone number? Kate did. Madame Constantinou fairly snatched the phone from her hand and dialled.

  Kate left her to it, slipping into the kitchen where Meg was filling the kettle. ‘How are things with you? I can see that Madame C needs a break.’

  ‘They have been better. I’ve got a family to run, Kate. I know this is all for the best but—’

  ‘Bloody right it’s for the best. You don’t want to lead them to your family.’ She put her arm round Meg’s shoulders. The tension practically radiated out of them.

  At last, with a sigh, Meg straightened. She switched on the kettle. ‘I shall be all right after a cuppa.’

  Kate wasn’t so sure. ‘If we don’t run this gang to earth quickly, what are you going to do when you’re finished here? Go back into uniform? Throw them off the scent that way? Like I’m back in civvies?’

  ‘Suppose so. Not that I’m keen. I enjoyed my job—no way you can do it looking like a policewoman the kids wouldn’t relate to you’

  ‘Only for a bit, anyway. Till we’ve nailed everyone.’

  ‘Better get nailing, hadn’t we?’

  ‘Quite. Tell me, Meg—and goodness knows why I didn’t ask you about this before—’

  ‘Because you’re trying to do two jobs at once, I should imagine!’

  ‘You do that all the time if you’re a working mother. Actually, it was because your phone was off yesterday. Look, do you remember how badly Natasha reacted to the first interpreter?’

  ‘Mihail?’

  ‘That’s it Did you ever find out why?’

  ‘Kate!’ Madame Constantinou’s voice rang down the hall. ‘Ah, there you are A phone call for you’

  Kate smiled her thanks, shrugging at Meg who offered a rueful smile in return It was Smith He’d got hold of a load of mug-shots from Interpol and had sent them down line so Kate and her team could go through them with Natasha Well, it made sense All delegation made sense But Just now Kate wouldn’t try delegating, tempted though she was Madame Constantinou and Meg could have competed for a prize in fatigue it would be touch and go who won

  By the end of an hour, Kate would have come a challenging third She was positive that Natasha had no difficulties at all in understanding what she said And she could communicate easily enough when she wanted to It was all the drama, the hand-wringing and the pacing round the room uttering what sounded like imprecations that wearied her. How did teachers manage? Parents? Meg and Madame Constantinou, for that matter? She’d have loved to grasp her by the scruff of her neck—noticeably cleaner and plumper than when she’d arrived—and force her to look at the screen.

  At last, Natasha seemed to return to the computer of her own accord, but didn’t grant it the favour of her concentration.

  Doggedly Kate brought up image after image of possible Vladis. ‘This one? Is this Vladi? Or is this one of Vladi’s friends?’ She was just about to scroll through the lot one more time when Natasha pointed and squeaked.

  ‘Yes? Natasha, is that Vladi?’

  If only
it had been possible to read the thoughts obviously pounding through Natasha’s brain. Within a moment, however, she lowered her lids, and her face became a mask.

  Kate insisted: ‘Natasha, is that Vladi? Look at me, Natasha, tell me—is that Vladi?’

  Chapter 22

  ‘“Quite like Vladi but not so handsome.” What kind of answer is that?’ Oxnard demanded. No one in the still busy incident room pointed out that there was no need for him to be there on a Saturday, that it wasn’t his case. Since he’d come in with a thin-faced man called Howard Betts, rather younger than Rod and already a detective superintendent with the National Crime Squad, it was tacitly assumed that this was now everyone’s case.

  ‘I suspect she may have equivocal feelings towards Vladi,’ Kate said, suppressing a yawn. It wasn’t so much the lateness of the hour—though it was almost ten o’clock—as the result of a further hour’s tussling with the recalcitrant Natasha. ‘Recalcitrant’: a dreg of GCSE Latin floated to the surface to remind her that ‘recalcitrant’ meant sitting on your heels. It seemed a singularly appropriate term for the wretched child—except when she was leaping round the room like a female Nureyev. At least some good had come out of her session, not all to do with Vladi—or quite-like-Vladi. Both Meg and Madame Constantinou admitted to having collapsed on their beds and slept solidly while she was doing battle.

  “Equivocal”? Surely she should be hating the man’s guts!’ Smith snorted.

  ‘He’s the only man who’s ever shown her an iota of kindness,

  dubious though that might have been in our eyes. Perhaps she hopes that it wasn’t really he who was responsible—that as her poor subconscious tries to bury the appalling things that have befallen her she’s convinced herself that he’s a fundamentally good man, but with a rotten choice of friends.’

  Smith flicked through a sheaf of notes. ‘Talking of young men, Power, how have you got on with the translator guy?’

  ‘Mihail?’ she asked stupidly. ‘What about him?’

  ‘You’re supposed to have been talking to him.’

  She prevaricated. ‘I’ve asked Meg Walker to talk to Natasha about him—why he gave her the wobblies.’

  ‘I told you to talk to him.’

  ‘Not me.’ She spoke with more conviction than she felt. Was it supposed to be her job? The fifteen-hour day was beginning to take its toll. She simply couldn’t remember. But Oxnard had reminded her that she wasn’t Smith’s assistant. She was supposed to be running a nick—in her spare time, it rather seemed. Smith had a whole team of minions, two of them hers No. She wouldn’t have taken it on.

  ‘Get it sorted tomorrow first thing. OK?’

  ‘Not me, sir, I’m afraid. I’m already committed to a meeting at Scala House.’ If it was urgent, he’d have to find someone else. All the same, she made a note to contact Meg about Mihail, as early as was decent.

  Rod led the way into the car park, heading towards a black and yellow apparition.

  ‘What the hell is this?’

  ‘This, my darling Kate, is your transport of delight.’

  ‘If you say so.’ She peered more closely at the Smart car. ‘I must admit I’ve never been in anything quite like this.

  ‘I thought it would be a special treat. Seriously,’ he added, as he let her in, ‘I thought it was just the thing.’

  ‘Oh, it is. Absolutely.’ She was failing to suppress her giggles. ‘But for you?’

  ‘Perfect cover, I should say.’ His focus shifted to over her shoulder. The thin-faced detective was approaching them. ‘Howard!’

  ‘Jesus, these fucking meetings. Tell you what, Rod, you

  couldn’t tell me where to get a decent curry, could you? I mean, at this time of night the restaurants’ll be full of half-naked kids swilling too many alcopops, won’t they?’

  ‘I’ve ordered a takeaway,’ Rod said. ‘I’m sure we can make it enough for three. Have you booked in anywhere yet?’

  ‘Booked but not checked in. Somewhere in Digbeth.’

  ‘You’d be far better off staying with us,’ Rod declared firmly. ‘Kate, Howard and I go back years. Howard, this is Kate, the love of my life, whose only fault is an incorrigible habit of getting up at an unconscionably early hour. You remember where I live?’

  ‘Vaguely—but are you sure?’ He looked from one to the other.

  ‘Rod’s only fault is to keep people standing around on bloody freezing evenings talking details. Rod, give me the keys to this thing and you go with Howard and navigate for him.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you rather be driven? You could navigate and get to know Howard.’

  Kate caught his eye, guiding it in the direction of a straggle of men and women who’d been at the same meeting. ‘On the whole,’ she said, not altogether joking, ‘it might be better if I weren’t seen alone in the company of yet another senior officer.’

  ‘Particularly if you’re going to be sleeping under the same roof, if not the same duvet,’ Rod agreed. ‘OK. First one in boosts the heating and puts the plates to warm.’

  It transpired that Howard had known Rod when he was a first-year undergraduate and Rod a lordly postgraduate. It wasn’t clear which particular interests they shared: they seemed to have quite incompatible views on every topic they touched on. There was only one thing on which they all agreed: that much as they’d like to drink their way through every bottle on the table and talk till the small hours got bigger, they were all summoned by their beds. Kate found towels while the men made up the spare bed. She could quite warm to Howard, not only as a working-class lad with a mordant sense of humour but also as their first guest. Another time she was sure she’d have been worrying about laying out fresh soap in the guest bathroom and whether the loo was clean. As it was, it was more important to set the central heating to come on shortly after six so they could all rise to a warm house.

  So how come, after a couple of hours’ routine but urgent work at Scala House, she got back to Steelhouse Lane to find her name on the incident-room whiteboard alongside Mihail’s? Arms akimbo, she stared as if it would rematerialise somewhere else.

  ‘No need to say anything,’ Oxnard murmured in her irate ear. ‘I know, Neville knows, you know it’s not your job. You shouldn’t be doing routine work any half-way sensible DC could do. You should be doing specialist stuff. But in fact it makes sense for you to talk to him since you’ve met him before. We can bring him in here so you don’t have to venture out again. After all, you came in for protection—safer than hanging around on your own.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Something told her very strongly that it didn’t, but on the amount of sleep she’d had, she couldn’t remember what. In any case, the only excuse she could think of was that she’d meant to catch up on her official reading. Not the best one. ‘Where am I seeing him?’

  ‘Mr Oxnard! Phone for you, sir!’

  ‘Good girl. We’ll sort the details out in two minutes.’ He scuttled off.

  Before she could move from the whiteboard, Smith muscled in. ‘Go and pick him up, will you?’

  Kate raised an ironic eyebrow. ‘Pick him up from where he lives?’

  ‘No. From the top of the Rotunda. Of course from his home. What are you talking about, woman?’

  The man shouldn’t have spoken to a rookie like that. She

  asked coldly, ‘Do we know whom he lives with? Who his associates are?’

  ‘The general idea,’ he said slowly and clearly, his words no doubt reaching the ears of the youngest, greenest kid at the furthest end of the room, ‘is that you find out all of those things when you interview him. That’s what interviewing is, Power. Asking people questions.’

  ‘I see.’ Anger fizzed but she tried irony again. ‘I drive out there in daylight and sit him in the front of the car with me and remind him of what I look like so that if he does turn out to be one of the child-prostitute smugglers he’ll be able to compare notes with his mates? With all due respect, I don’t think so. Not after all the trouble everyone’s be
en going to to make sure I’m not seen by anyone who might conceivably recognise me.’

  ‘Fuck it, woman.’

  ‘Chief Inspector, couldn’t an ordinary uniformed constable go and get him? There are other things a more experienced officer like me can be doing. Even,’ she added, with an attempt to joke the atmosphere clear, ‘preparing for tomorrow’s youth-crime initiative meeting with the ACC.’

  ‘You should do that sort of thing on your rest day.’

  She smiled sweetly. ‘Today is my rest day. Yesterday was my rest day. Tomorrow I have to be fully briefed for a meeting at Lloyd House at nine sharp with Them Upstairs. And before you suggest I prepare tomorrow morning, don’t forget I’m trying to run Scala House nick and need to be there giving orders at the crack of dawn, just as I’ve already done today. Is that OK, sir? Because if it is, I could go and phone Sergeant Walker and ask her if she’s found out why Natasha didn’t want Mihail to interpret.’

  She didn’t give him time to reply. Turning on her heel, she made for the temporary haven of the ladies’ lavatory. Hell, why did such silly encounters still irritate her so much? Why did she have to rise to the bait every time? She hadn’t needed to justify herself like that: she could simply have said it was Oxnard’s instruction that she stay in the building. Or was that simply. hiding behind an authority figure? A male authority figure at that!

  She hadn’t even had the sense to bring her bag-with her to repair her makeup. Hell and hell and hell. And Meg’s new phone was engaged. She left a terse message.

  She peered at herself in the mirror. OK, so she had no camouflage to hide the still angry flush: she’d better simply stride out with her head held high.

  When she slipped back into the incident room, there was a full-scale argument going with her two lads at the heart of it. Dave Bush, all his anxiety gestures a-flourish, was yelling at DCI Smith, not, Kate was sure, a good career move. When he paused for breath, Zayn Ara chimed in: ‘It’s not right, putting her at risk. You heard what Dave said. If Mr Choi’s given us a—warning—’