Family Reunion

by Robert F Barker

  ‘DON’T, MR CARVER. It’s me.’

  For a moment Carver couldn’t place it, but as he hesitated and backed off to let some light in, he recognised the cowering figure beneath him.

  It was the retired SOCO, Ron Gover.

  For several moments Carver stared at the man in mute surprise. Having expected Vahrig Danelian, or at the very least some shady associate of Radi Maleeva, he was thrown completely by the retired SOCO’s presence. Was he connected with Maleeva in some way? With adrenalin turning his surprise quickly to anger, he reached out for Gover’s jacket and hauled him to his feet.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here, Gover? I could have hurt you, dammit.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Carver,’ Gover gasped, still shaken. ‘I wasn’t sure where best to approach you. But I knew you were on your own so I came in.’

  Carver was having difficulty putting it together. ‘Approach me? How the hell did you know where to even find me?’

  Gover looked abashed. ‘I, er, I’ve been following you. I picked you up on the way into the city this morning.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Someone I used to know said you live out in North Wales, so I guessed you would come in along the ‘fifty-six.’ Seeing Carver’s look of astonishment, he added. ‘I was Regional Crime Squad in my early days. I’m a bit rusty but the basics are still there.’

  ‘Jesus.’ Carver made a mental note to revise his surveillance-awareness techniques at the next opportunity, if it had been Danelian… It made him think of Rosanna, and a wave of panic shot through him before he realised he was confusing past and present. Nevertheless, it was a reminder and he set himself another prompt to phone her and tell her to be careful. Things were happening he didn’t fully understand. It may be an overreaction, but better safe than sorry.

  ‘I’m sorry if I-.’ Gover began, but Carver put out a silencing hand.

  ‘Hang on, Ron.’ He took a deep breath to clear his mind and flush away the remains of his scare. ‘I don’t understand what you’re saying. What’s the problem with you approaching me? And why go to all the trouble of picking me up on my way into work? I gave you my office number, why didn’t you just call?’

  Gover’s sheepish look faded, giving way to something more serious. He pulled at his jacket, still straightening himself after his mauling. ‘No, I couldn’t. It would have been too risky.’

  ‘Risky? Why would it be risky? What are you talking about?’

  Gover stared at him, blankly, for a long time, like he was weighing consequences. Eventually his face broke and he gave a resigned sigh. ‘I’ve something for you….’

  CHAPTER 37

  After initially sounding like she wanted to be helpful, the woman who had answered Carver’s call with, ‘Tesco Prestwich. May I help you?’ was apologetic when she returned to the phone.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’ve checked our personnel system, but there’s no record of a Lucine Danelian. And I’ve asked around but no one here now remembers anyone by that name. Unfortunately we have quite a turn-over of staff, especially young women. They tend to come and go a lot.’

  Carver pulled a face. Sod’s law.

  ‘Well thanks anyway,’ Carver said. He gave her his number, asking her to ring him back if anyone remembered anything.

  ‘Will do,’ she said brightly. But as Carver put the phone down he had a feeling he would never hear from her.

  ‘Damn,’ he said. He stared at the name and number on the slip of paper, wondering what it was his instincts were trying to tell him. He still didn’t know if the name, ‘Lucine’ held any significance, but he couldn’t think of any other reason why the murdered moneylender would have jotted her details. He scratched the back of his head. Something was bugging him, but he couldn’t think what.

  ‘Come on,’ he urged himself as he re-played the phone conversation in his head.

  He was doing so for the third time when the telephone rang.

  It was Nigel Broom and the way he barked, ‘ Carver?’ down the phone as soon as he picked up, Carver knew what it was about. You bastard, West.

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Carver moved the phone away from his ear. ‘I thought I made it clear you were to stay out of this bloody SMIU investigation?’

  ‘You did. I–.’

  ‘So why have I got a DCI West onto me telling me about you visiting a potential source, and now he and his family are dead?’

  Carver bit his lip at the inference that West had described Radi Maleeva as a potential source, as if he had already figured in the enquiry. He wondered what else his former colleague had sold to Broom.

  ‘I was looking to see if I could speed things up a bit. West has got half his team wasting their time trawling immigration records and-.’

  ‘That’s his prerogative. He’s the SIO so it’s his shout. It’s bugger-all to do with either you or NCA. You know what I told you.’

  ‘I do, sir, but someone on his team was expressing concern that-.’

  ‘Who? Your friend Ms Greylake I presume? If you can’t stay away from her, Jamie, then you’d better-’

  ‘It wasn’t her. And even if it had been, it makes no difference. This Armenian guy is looking for his family and if he finds them he’s going to do to them what he did to the family we found this morning. The information came to me in the first place, and I know how you feel, but I’m sorry, I can’t just sit on my hands and wait around until more bodies turn up.’

  Even down the phone, Carver heard Broom’s long intake of breath. ‘There are plenty of officers around just as committed as you are. You’re not the only detective capable of catching murderers you know. And if you aren’t prepared to follow my instructions, then you leave me no choice but to re-consider your position with NCA.’

  ‘I didn’t say I’m not prepared to follow your instructions. It’s just-.’

  ‘I’m sorry Jamie. You know I have a lot of respect for what you‘ve achieved, but when I agreed to take you back onto NCA - remember, when you needed a break?’ Carver remembered, but decided against pointing out it was Broom who telephoned him with his offer. ‘Well it wasn’t charity. I shouldn’t have to point out that we’re still trying to put our own house in order. That’s what I took you on to do.’

  ‘I thought it was for my practical experience.’

  ‘Don’t be smart with me. You know exactly what I mean. Now I’m telling you one last time. Back off. May I remind you I’m still waiting for the North West office’s contribution to the new NCA Strategy document. It was supposed to be with me by the end of last week.’

  Carver’s gaze wandered to the middle tray of the three-stack right in front of him. The buff folder containing the half-completed analyses and Crime-Trend Projections seemed to have sunk even further down the ‘pending-not-urgent’ pile than the last time he’d thought about it. He remembered he was off that coming weekend.

  ‘How about if I-.’

  But Broom wasn’t for having any. ‘I’m not negotiating with you Jamie. Either do as I say, or get yourself fitted for a uniform. I’m sure there are plenty of DCIs who would welcome a respite from the pressures of area work.’

  Before Carver could respond the line went dead and after a few moments holding his breath, he let it out with a sigh - of relief as much as anything. He didn’t take well to threats, and had felt the onrush of blood that would no doubt have fuelled whatever would have come out of his mouth next. He let it go. ‘Thanks for your understanding,’ he said to the telephone.

  ‘I take it that was Broom?’

  Carver glanced up. Jess was in the doorway, looking drawn. He made a rueful face.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Terry was on to him, blowing you out as soon as we got back. I tried to ring but you were engaged so I came round to warn you. Looks like I was too late.’

  Craving the sanctuary of caffeine, Carver nodded as he rose from his chair. ‘I was expecting it from the moment I heard about the Maleevas.’ He waved a mug.
She declined. ‘But I’m not blaming anyone. I knew the risks when I rang Padma.’

  As he returned to his seat, Jess closed the door and took the chair at the side of his desk. ‘Okay. What else didn’t you tell Terry at the scene?’

  Carver told her more about his visit to Radi the previous day and his request for a meeting that morning.

  ‘So you think he was going to put you onto the Danelians?’

  ‘I’m positive. And if that idiot West had bothered to ask, I’d have told him to go through Radi Maleeva’s house and business records with a fine-tooth comb. There’s an address somewhere. It’s probably why he was killed.’

  ‘So why did he kill the rest of the family?’

  Carver gave her a resigned look. ‘Remember what Mikayel said? It’s what he does.’

  She pondered on it, nodding, but then remembered something else.

  ‘I rang earlier, from the mortuary, but you weren’t in and you weren’t answering your mobile . Where were you?’ He twitched an eyebrow. ‘Jamie…? What are you doing?’ It twitched again, and swung his gaze towards the note on his desk. ‘Oh God, you’re still on it aren’t you?’ She came around the side of his desk, twisting her neck so she could read the scrawl. ‘Lucine? Who is Lucine?’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to find out. I think Radi wrote it before he died.’

  Jess gave him one of her scolding looks. ‘Broom’ll have you put back into uniform the moment he finds out. And he will. West will see to it.’

  He shrugged. ‘But at least by then we may have found the Danelians.’

  ‘Tell you what, let me follow it up.’ She reached towards the note. ‘ At least then he can’t make anything out of it.’ But about to pick it up, he caught her wrist. She looked up to find his dark eyes burning into hers.

  ‘Not this time, Jess. I’m going to see it through.’

  Her brow furrowed. ‘But why? What’s the point? It’ll only lead to trouble.’

  ‘And it’ll be my trouble. No one else’s.’

  She looked at him pityingly. ‘So that’s it is it? A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do? Who do you think you are, Gary Cooper in High Noon?’

  The cinematic reference – usually his trick – almost brought a smile. ‘I’m just saying, I’m not hiding anymore. If it needs doing then I’m going to do it. And bollocks to anyone who tells me otherwise.’

  The look in her face turned to exasperation and as she shook her head, her hair shook and glistened under the light. ‘Men. You can be so immature sometimes.’ She returned to her seat. ‘So what’s the number?’

  ‘Tesco.’

  ‘Tesco?’

  ‘At Prestwich. But no one there remembers a Lucine and they can’t find any records.’

  ‘So what next?’

  ‘I was working on it when you came in.’

  ‘Sounds like you need to find someone who worked for Tescos and might remember…. Jamie?’ His eyes had glazed over.

  ‘ Jamie?’

  He came back to her with a start but instead of speaking he just lifted a hand to his mouth as he pondered on the thought that had come to him, responding - at last - to the itch.

  ‘What is it?’ Jess said.

  Still silent, he checked his watch. It was nearly three already and he’d promised the woman he’d arranged to see he would be there by half-past. He picked up the phone and dialled home. He let it ring for a long time in case they were outside. Jess stood there, watching. Hanging up, he tried Rosanna’s mobile, assuming she would be with them, wherever they were. As the robotic voice he’d grown used to hearing kicked in, he hung up before she could tell him, ‘The person you are calling is unable to take your call.’

  ‘Damn.’

  He imagined them all, half way up a Welsh mountain-side and wondered again why, in this day and age, mobile phone networks still can’t cope with hills. No telling when they would be back. But he could keep trying on his way.

  He grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair. ‘Sorry Jess. Things to do. Ring you later.’

  And he was gone.

  CHAPTER 38

  The slightly-built woman with short black hair spread her weight on her hands and leaned over the glass-topped examination table. From a distance, her gaze seemed steady, unreadable, but across the room Carver could just make out the minute eye movements that reflected the feverish activity going on behind them. They had begun the moment he stopped talking.

  Without moving her hands off the table she swivelled her head round, slowly, looking over her shoulder. Above waist height, the walls were of glass through which the technicians and scientists who made up her team could be seen, going about their work with the methodical deliberation their calling demanded. No one was paying Carver and the dark-haired woman the slightest attention. Why would they? Investigating Officers visited the Forensic Services lab just outside Chorley every day. And while many knew Carver and had worked with him, they also knew he liked, whenever possible, to engage Senior Analyst, Claire Trevor, to work on his cases, just as he was seeking to do now.

  Eventually Claire stood upright and wandered, casually, to the door, nudging it with a foot so that it closed, slowly and quietly. No one looked around.

  Carver knew that many of the Lab-Rats, as he enjoyed calling them, kept the doors to the individual Inspection Rooms closed while they worked. They claimed it reduced the risk of contamination, but seeing as they worked in an environment that was pretty much sterile anyway, Carver suspected they just preferred peace and quiet - not that a place where the decibel level seldom rose above library pitch could be described as ‘noisy’.

  Claire returned to the counter and pinned him with the stare again.

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

  He held her gaze for several seconds, arms folded, before shaking his head.

  She looked down at the collection of plastic bags in front of her. ‘Who knows?’

  ‘No one.’ Then he added. ‘Yet.’

  ‘If I don’t find anything?’

  ‘Then it won’t go anywhere and I was never here.’

  ‘And if I do?’

  He took a deep breath. ‘I’ll take full responsibility.’

  The guffaw was as low as she could keep it. ‘Oh yeah. Like my Director won’t be, “Tell me, Ms Trevor, on whose authority did you accede to DCI Carver’s request when there was no SR?”’

  He ran his tongue round his lips. ‘If you want a Submission Report, I can let you have one. It may just be a little… imaginative.’ He sent her a wink. It earned him a ticking off.

  ‘Don’t do that. I’m not one of your floosies in some city-centre dive.’

  It was his turn to pretend. ‘Excuse me. What sort of people do you think I mix with?’

  ‘I know what sort of people you mix with. You showed me once, remember?’

  He did. It was at the height of the Ancoats rapes investigation. Claire had wanted to see for herself exactly how the ‘entirely innocent’ contact-and-transfer process he’d been hypothesising about might work. Carver claimed it could account for the multiple DNA traces - from differing sources - she had found on some of the victims’ outer clothing. After failing to dissuade her and settling for warning her as best he could, he took her to the Neptune, then the dingiest, most low-life nightclub in the City. After an hour spent observing what went on in the toilets - ladies and gents, -swapping seats around the club’s less-than-salubrious lounge area, and letting her experience the fun of the crush around the bar – ‘I’m sure that bloke with the tattoos was trying to have sex with me,’ - Claire could stand the noise, atmosphere and groping no longer. ‘Get me out of here,’ she begged.

  He was happy to oblige.

  As he drove her home, and after she got her breath back, she swallowed her pride enough to acknowledge that there might be something to his suggestion after all. For weeks he had been imploring her that the Forensic Service industry was long overdue in reviewing some of the assumptions that still und
erpin many scientists’ ‘expert opinion’ concerning presence and origin of body-fluids on victim clothing.

  Now, he didn’t waste time disputing her assessment of his social circle, but let her muse on all he had told her. And he knew he didn’t need to press his argument. He’d worked with Claire enough to know two things about her. One was she relished a challenge, which was exactly what he had bought her. Second, Claire was different to many in her profession who wouldn’t dream of going near an exhibit unless every administrative ‘i’ was dotted and ‘t’ crossed. She preferred to focus on making sure that any analysis undertaken by her and her team was done in a way and within a time-frame that met the needs of the investigators. Right now he was hoping that her silence signalled she was just buying time before agreeing to stick her neck out.

  ‘How long ago you say?’ She picked up one of the bags and peered through the plastic at the flimsy gold top Carver remembered so well.

  ‘Twenty years.’

  She let out a low whistle. ‘That’s a long time.’

  ‘But it doesn’t deteriorate, right?’

  ‘Degrade,’ she corrected him. ‘Organics degrade. And no, for our purposes and over a relatively short time scale as that, it doesn’t.’

  She dropped the bag and looked across at him. ‘You’re sure you want to do this? There’s no going back if I find something. And if what you told me is true, I imagine things could get very messy.’

  He stared at the small pile of bags, remembering what it stood for. A life not lived.

  ‘Believe me, nothing would give me greater pleasure.’

  She nodded slowly, casting her eyes over the table, weighing the task. ‘Give me a couple of days. I’ll call you when I have something.’

  Back in his car, Carver made two calls. The first was to the office of one of the handful of senior officers he knew above the rank of Superintendent in whose integrity he had absolute faith. When his call fell into voicemail, Carver left what he thought would be just enough information to guarantee the man would call him back as soon as he picked it up.