Dead Guilty

by Michelle Davies

  ‘Then I got a yellow card for a dangerous tackle,’ he added impishly, as though that was the greater achievement.

  ‘Football’s so boring,’ Flora butted in. ‘You should play basketball like Jude.’

  Maggie thought she’d misheard her, and asked her to repeat it.

  ‘I said, he should play basketball like Jude,’ she repeated, her tone suggesting Maggie was being thick for asking.

  ‘My Jude?’

  Flora frowned. ‘He’s not yours – he’s your nephew. He’s just made his school team.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  Flora waggled her phone at her. ‘Snapchat.’

  Maggie couldn’t have been more surprised if the girl had thrown a drink over her. Since when had she and Jude been messaging? They’d only met once, in the Easter holidays, when the boys had stayed with her for a few days. Maggie had organized tickets for the London Eye and suggested Umpire bring his two along in the hope it might elicit a thaw in Flora’s behaviour. From what she remembered, Jude and Flora had barely exchanged a word all day, both teens glued to their smartphones the entire time. Jack and Scotty, on the other hand, were instant friends, nattering non-stop about their shared passion for football.

  Flora smirked. ‘What’s the problem?’

  Maggie wished she could say you are, but the nuclear fallout wasn’t worth it. Instead she smiled.

  ‘It’s nice you and Jude get on.’

  Flora pulled a face as though she’d just vomited in her mouth. ‘Why is everything always nice with you? It’s such a blah word.’

  Maggie regarded her for a moment. ‘Don’t worry, I shan’t use it about you.’

  Flora’s expression tweaked as her brain raced to catch up with the comment. It didn’t sound like an insult, but it was, wasn’t it? Before the girl could make her mind up, Maggie announced that if Flora and Jude were friends now, maybe they could have another day out when he next visited.

  Flora shrugged non-committally, but Maggie saw her eyes spark with excitement and she had to suppress a smile. Oh to be fourteen and experiencing your first crush.

  ‘I’ll mention it next time I speak to him,’ she added, an idea forming in her mind. ‘We talk a lot, Jude and me. He’s a great kid, really respectful of grown-ups.’

  Flora stared at her.

  ‘He’s so protective of me too,’ said Maggie airily. ‘He hates it when anyone upsets me.’

  She stopped then, fearing she was ramming home the point too obviously and not wanting to stoop quite to Flora’s level, the pettiness unbecoming for someone her age. But as Umpire rejoined them, she glanced across at the teen and, to her amusement, received a weak smile.

  The penny had dropped.

  8

  Flora was so preoccupied as they ate their burgers that, in spite of their many run-ins, Maggie began to regret toying with the girl. She must really like Jude if she’s this worried I might say something, she thought, and it occurred to her that she might be able to use the girl’s crush to her own benefit. She waited until Flora and Jack had finished eating and were both immersed in their devices, her on her phone again, him on his Nintendo Switch, both oblivious to the world, then moved round the table to sit closer to Umpire.

  ‘It seems my nephew and your daughter are now friends. Did you know they were in touch?’ she said in a low voice.

  ‘Flora did mention last week that they’ve messaged a few times,’ said Umpire, frowning. ‘It didn’t sound like a big deal.’

  ‘Well, it is. It’s been more than a few times. I’d say it’s pretty constant, in fact.’ Maggie grinned and tilted her head towards Flora, who was ferociously typing out a message on her phone.

  ‘Are you saying they’re an item?’

  There was something in his voice that pulled her up.

  ‘Would it bother you if they were?’ she asked.

  ‘I suppose, well . . . look, Jude’s a nice enough lad but I don’t want it getting out of hand. We both know what kids get up to online these days and the stuff they send each other. Flora’s not as mature as she likes to think she is.’

  Maggie bristled with indignation.

  ‘I hope you’re not saying you think Jude’s going to force her into sending him explicit pictures. He isn’t like that.’

  ‘That’s not what I’m saying,’ said Umpire, his voice dropping to a whisper as Jack shot them a look. ‘Don’t twist my words. I like Jude a lot, he’s a responsible kid, but I think they’re both too young for a long-distance romance.’

  ‘I’ve got an idea about that. Why don’t I call Lou and arrange for them to come up for the weekend? It might take the heat out of things a bit. Show them the reality versus the online fantasy.’

  ‘You want to call your sister?’

  ‘I know it’s still early days, but we’re getting on better every time we speak.’

  ‘That’s because you mainly text.’

  Maggie grinned. ‘We talk too. It’s a step up, anyway.’

  The previous year she had become estranged from Lou and the children for seven long, painful months, after Lou discovered a secret Maggie had been keeping from her and was furious. Now they were talking again and while they hadn’t quite reclaimed the closeness they shared before their falling-out, their relationship was finally back on track.

  ‘So it’s a good idea,’ she badgered her boyfriend, ‘getting them to come up for the weekend? We can all do something together and at the same time you and Lou can have a talk with Flora and Jude about boundaries and being appropriate when messaging each other.’

  Umpire rolled his eyes, knowing he was beaten.

  ‘Okay, give your sister a call and arrange it.’ He took another sip of beer. ‘They’ll have to stay at mine though, you don’t have the room.’

  ‘Is that okay?’

  He eyed his daughter, who was still typing away.

  ‘I think I’d prefer it.’

  ‘You’ve got to let her grow up,’ said Maggie astutely.

  ‘I know, but she’s still a little girl to me. Go on, call Lou now. I know you want to.’

  Smiling at the way he’d read her mind, Maggie took her phone outside to escape the bar noise.

  ‘Hey, what’s up?’ asked Lou, answering on the third ring.

  Maggie felt a flood of gratitude that her sister had found it in herself to forgive her. It hadn’t been easy: the secret was that Maggie had slept with Lou’s fiancé, Jerome, when she was pregnant with Jude. Jerome then died in a traffic accident while the affair was ongoing, so Maggie chose to keep it a secret all those years. When Lou did find out last year, by chance, it had felt to her like a double betrayal.

  ‘Are you free the weekend after next?’ she asked.

  ‘Apart from the boys doing their usual sports stuff, yeah, we are. Why?’

  ‘I think Jude might be happy to give basketball a miss for once,’ Maggie grinned. Quickly, she filled Lou in about him and Flora.

  ‘That’s why I can’t get him to put that bloody phone down,’ said Lou. Maggie could tell her from her voice that she was amused, not concerned.

  ‘Will suggested that we all stay at his, because there’s more room.’

  ‘That sounds good.’

  They were discussing the best way for Lou and the kids to get from Portsmouth to Trenton when a beep on the line indicated Maggie had a call incoming. She didn’t recognize the number but knew she should take the call, in case it was related to work. With Mealing breathing down her neck, she couldn’t afford to be blasé.

  ‘I’m sorry, I have to take this. I think it’s work.’

  ‘No problem, I need to get Mae down anyway.’

  Maggie hurriedly rang off and picked up the other call.

  ‘Hello, DC Neville speaking,’ she answered.

  ‘Ah good, this is the right number,’ said a male voice. ‘Sorry to call this late. DCI Gavin Walker here, Operation Pivot. I got your email. You did a good job with Lara Steadman and we shall be following it up with her.�
��

  ‘Oh. Right, thank you,’ she said.

  ‘But that’s not why I’m ringing. Is your passport up to date?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I’ve got a vacancy on my team. I’ve just spent the past half an hour reading up on you and I think you’d be a good fit. That Kinnock girl case, it was high profile and you handled the pressure by all accounts.’

  ‘You mean join Operation Pivot? Sir, I don’t think I can,’ she spluttered. ‘I mean, my team, the boss—’

  ‘I’ve already cleared it with him. If you’re up for it, he’ll approve the temporary transfer.’

  Maggie wasn’t sure she liked how quickly the wheels were spinning on her career without her say-so.

  ‘What’s the role, sir?’

  ‘I need a FLO,’ he said, pronouncing it the correct way as ‘flow’. ‘Or rather Katy Pope’s parents need one. It will mean you coming out to Majorca with us on Friday for the anniversary. We’re staging a press conference after the memorial. I need someone with experience of those, and you’ve got that.’

  Now Maggie’s head was spinning to match the wheels. Joining Operation Pivot could be a great opportunity and the thought of working on an investigation overseas was exciting, but time away from the squad at Islington might make it even harder for her to integrate when she got back. Mealing was hardly going to welcome her back with open arms, that’s for sure.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Can I have some time to think about it, sir?’ she asked.

  ‘No. I need an answer now. I’ve got to get everything and everyone in place before we leave.’

  Maggie glanced through the vast window of the bar to where Umpire was sitting. He smiled and raised his glass at her. She knew he’d tell her to accept the offer, but then she hadn’t told him about the problems she’d been having with Mealing and what the secondment might whip up on her return. Then she checked herself: was she really going to let an arsehole like Mealing sabotage her doing something that could be good for her CV?

  ‘Yes, sir, I’m in.’

  ‘Good. Now, I need you here first thing for a briefing.’ He rattled off the address for New Scotland Yard.

  ‘Doesn’t my boss want to see me at Islington first for a handover?’ she asked.

  ‘It doesn’t sound like there was anything urgent he needed from you, so no. You’re part of Operation Pivot now. See you in the morning, DC Neville.’

  9

  Wednesday

  The middle-aged commuter sandwiched next to Maggie on the Tube platform was wearing headphones that appeared expensive but had a sound quality that fell far short of their aesthetic. The loud tinny noise escaping the black-and-silver cans made her want to stick her fingers in her own ears and the man had cranked the volume up loud enough that she could make out every word of Chris Martin singing ‘Paradise’.

  She shot the man a pained look in the hope he would catch its meaning and reduce the volume, but he stared straight ahead at the posters lining the Tube wall opposite the platform and moments later she could’ve sworn the sound increased. It was Ed Sheeran now, which she minded less. She had his first album on CD, although right now she had no idea where it was. Either in one of the boxes she still hadn’t unpacked or still in Mansell, in a box gathering dust in a storage facility on the outskirts of town with the rest of the belongings she hadn’t the space for.

  Another commuter walking past caught her shoulder with theirs and Maggie reared backward, mindful of how precariously close her feet were to crossing the yellow line at the platform edge. The eastbound District Line platform at Victoria was packed and her chest began to tighten in response to being in a confined space surrounded by lots of people. Being claustrophobic, she should’ve given more thought to what living in London and commuting on the Tube would involve, but her eagerness to start her new job with the Met meant she’d overlooked the impact it might have on her. Most mornings it was a struggle to stay calm until she’d disembarked at her journey’s end.

  A collective groan suddenly rippled along the platform and Maggie looked up to see the words THERE IS A DELAY ON THIS LINE DUE TO SIGNAL FAILURE scroll along the bottom of the announcement board. The time until the next train’s arrival spiked to ten minutes.

  ‘Shit,’ she muttered under her breath. Someone nearby in the crowd echoed her sentiment with a stronger expletive.

  Her face flushed as she debated whether she should wait for the train. She didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with Walker by being late for his briefing.

  To say his request for her to be liaison to Philip and Patricia Pope had been a surprise was an understatement. For one thing, she hadn’t been the FLO on a single case since joining the Met. This was partly because there hadn’t been any investigations where it was felt she was the best choice to serve the family’s needs, and partly because she hadn’t been brave enough to put herself forward for any. Mealing’s constant undermining really had chipped away at her confidence.

  Now, after a night sleeping on it, she was excited – and not just because her secondment meant a break from seeing Mealing for the next week at least. Katy Pope’s murder was part of Britain’s grim history of unsolved crimes, her name almost as recognizable to the public as Madeleine McCann’s was, and it was going to be fascinating to work on an investigation so long in the running.

  Katy Pope was seventeen when she went missing from a beach in Majorca while on holiday with her parents and her boyfriend, who was a university friend of her brother, George. It created headlines from day one, partly because Katy’s mother was a senior Met police officer and partly because of the horrific way in which the girl’s body had been disposed. Although interest in the case had dipped over the years, the anniversary trip was going to attract media attention and Maggie was ready for it: she’d had experience of what it was like being in the eye of the storm when she was the FLO to Lesley and Mack Kinnock, EuroMillions lottery winners whose daughter, Rosie, was abducted in 2016.

  Another groan went along the platform as two more minutes were added to the time until the next train. Knowing she couldn’t wait any longer, Maggie turned towards the exit and saw the platform was four deep already. Clutching her bag in front of her, she pushed her way through the crowd, issuing apologies as she stepped on toes and grazed bodies with her elbows.

  By the time she reached outside she was perspiring from the effort of climbing the escalator two steps at a time but there was no chance to think about the sweat soaking her armpits or that her dark-blonde ponytail was plastered to the back of her neck because she had precisely nineteen minutes to sprint the twenty-four-minute route past the bus terminus, round the side of the Apollo Theatre and along Victoria Street until she hit Parliament Square, where she would then bypass Big Ben to reach the Embankment where New Scotland Yard was. Flagging down a cab was pointless because the roads around Parliament Square were usually gridlocked at this hour.

  Grateful she’d had the sense to pick out her flattest shoes to wear that morning, Maggie hitched her bag back on her shoulder and broke into a run.

  10

  Her pace slowed as she crossed the short distance from Westminster Bridge to New Scotland Yard. She’d run fast enough that she now had a few minutes to spare.

  Outside the impressive curved glass entrance, she faltered as she passed the eternal flame dedicated to fallen officers. Set within a tranquil pool and encircled by a dome of light beamed from inside the building’s reception, it immediately brought to mind the colleague who had died in the line of duty last year in Mansell. They weren’t what she would’ve described as close friends, but they had been growing closer in the preceding months. Maggie had been in charge of the op as Acting DS and many times since she had rewound the fatal moment in her mind and examined it from every angle to see if she could have done something differently to prevent it happening. She didn’t think she could have, but she carried a heavy burden of guilt regardless.

  Pulling herself together, she hurried ins
ide the building, a frisson of excitement zipping through her as she crossed the threshold. In her six months with the Met she’d only been to the Yard a couple of times and it never failed to impress. It wasn’t where Operation Pivot was based, however – that was Belgravia police station, on the opposite side of Victoria Station from where she’d just come. But according to the email DCI Walker had sent her overnight to get her up to speed, today’s briefing was important enough to be upgraded to the Yard because the Assistant Commissioner for Specialist Crime and Operations was going to be sitting in. With all eyes on their trip, he wanted to be sure the team was leaving nothing to chance.

  Maggie reported to reception and was directed to the conference room where the briefing was to take place. Walker wasn’t there yet, but her new colleagues DC Vince Paulson and DS Amit Shah were. Feeling like the new girl at school, Maggie said a tentative hello. Both greeted her warmly and Paulson pointed her towards the pots of tea and coffee laid out on a table at the side of the room.

  ‘Only rubbish biscuits though,’ said Shah. ‘Blame cutbacks.’

  Maggie smiled. ‘I think I’ll live. No sign of DCI Walker yet?’

  ‘He’s running late. Had to take an important phone call apparently.’

  ‘Probably Mrs Pope telling him what he should and shouldn’t be doing again,’ said Paulson sardonically.

  Maggie was surprised to detect an Australian accent.

  ‘Oh, you’re—’

  ‘Ten years since I transferred,’ he said, obviously used to explaining his provenance. ‘Hot, sunny, laid-back Sydney just can’t compete with this place.’ He chuckled at Maggie’s raised eyebrow. ‘Met a British girl when she was backpacking, got her pregnant, decided I didn’t want to miss seeing my son grow up, so I followed her back to the UK. We’re not together any more, in case you’re wondering. Or hoping,’ he smirked.

  Maggie didn’t react.

  ‘Now Amit here is happily married, so don’t go getting any ideas,’ said Paulson, nodding to his colleague, who looked embarrassed. ‘But he’s the man for you as far as this investigation goes. You can ask him any question about the Katy Pope case and he knows the answer because he’s absorbed every document connected to the case and committed them to memory.’