The second call was to home again. He’d tried several times on the way to the lab. This time Rosanna answered. At last.
‘Is Sarah there? I need to speak to her.’
He pretended not to notice the frosty hesitation, and a second later the clatter indicated the phone being put down on the table. After half a minute his sister came on. ‘ Jamie?’
‘You told me you once worked with someone from Armenia. A girl I think you said. Was that when you were at Tesco?’
‘Yes. Why?’
He tensed. ‘You don’t by any chance remember her name do you?’
She blew air. ‘She wasn’t there long. Erm, let me think.’ But after a moment’s hesitation, she twigged. ‘Is she something to do with this case of yours?’
‘Just try to remember, sis. It’s important.’
For what seemed a long time, Sarah umm-ed and ahh-ed. ‘I’m not sure I’d know her family name if you said it now. But I’ll know her first name. Lin-da? Ssss-usan?’ He was about to give her a prompt when it came. ‘I’ve got it. Lucy. No, something like that. Erm.’
‘Lucine?’
‘Lucine, yep. Is she the one you’re looking for?’
‘That’s what I’m trying to find out. Where did she live?’
Her voice fell. ‘I’m sorry. I never knew her address. Somewhere in Miles Platting, I think, or it might have been Fallowfield.’
‘Damn.’ His spirits started to plunge again.
‘Hang on though-.’
‘Yes?’
‘I remember she left to take a job at one of the colleges….’
Carver waited, hardly daring to ask the question. There were scores of colleges around Manchester. He didn’t have to worry long.
‘I’m sure it was a language college. She was good at languages.’
‘Do you know which one?’
Another hesitation, then, ‘I think it was the City College of Language. I remember being dead impressed.’
‘Great. Keep thinking about her. I might need more if you can remember anything.’
‘Er, Rosanna wants a word.’
Oh-oh.
‘What are you doing, Jamie?’
He took a deep breath. ‘What I have to, Ros,. Don’t worry I’m not going to let it harm us.’ There was only silence. ‘I need you to bear with me, Ros. Please.’
He waited.
‘Be careful,’ she said, and hung up.
He let out the breath he’d been holding, then started Googling the Manchester City College of Languages.
CHAPTER 39
As the young administrator with the blonde hair returned to the office, Carver stood up, hoping.
‘Just caught her,’ she said, smiling. She nodded back over her shoulder.
Seconds later, a tall, young woman with dark features, long dark hair and wearing a puzzled expression followed her in. Carver wasn’t certain but he thought he’d caught a glimpse of her amongst the throng of departing students and lecturers he had passed in the corridor a few minutes earlier. He remembered the hair and coat. But he hadn’t seen her face, not close to. If he had, he would have approached her directly. For the face now staring at him, whilst attractive, also bore unmistakable similarities to the one in the photograph in his inside pocket. The slight almond shape to the eyes, though in her case devoid of the sinister darkness. The high cheekbones. The fullness of the lips. Carver was in no doubt. She had to be Vahrig Danelian’s sister. He was grateful her colleague had been able to catch her, a few minutes later he’d have missed her altogether.
He’d taken a risk not ringing ahead, but thought that advance warning of his coming might panic her into disappearing. Luckily, the girl on reception downstairs knew exactly who he meant when he asked after an Armenian girl named Lucine.
‘You want Lucy Donovan,’ she’d said. ‘She works in Admin Support.’ As she directed him to the Administration Unit’s second-floor offices, Carver mentally congratulated the family on their choice of alias, Danelian-Donovan. Sufficient to forge a new identity, but with enough echoes of the past to recall the original.
Lucine’s husky-but-sweet accent dragged him back to his mission.
‘You wanted to see me?’
About to speak, he saw her colleague hovering behind, not even trying to be discreet about showing her interest. When he’d arrived at the office, he had purported to be a prospective mature student in urgent need of Lucy’s advice. The way Lucy was now looking at him, he guessed she was already seeing through the sham.
‘Is there somewhere we can talk?’ He shot a glance over her shoulder to where her friend still lingered. ‘Privately.’
An uncertain look passed across her face and she turned to check it out with her friend before coming back to him.
‘I assure you, I’m perfectly safe,’ he added, and gave her the smile Jess had once told him was his most disarming. It seemed to work, at least as far as the blonde was concerned.
‘Mr Hedley’s already left, Luce. You can use his office.’
As Lucy showed him through to the Deputy Principal’s office, Carver caught the ferocious glare she threw her blond colleague. The girl sent back a grin that was equally fierce.
Carver waited while she shut the door and settled herself in the chair facing the one he had taken before starting.
‘My name is Jamie Carver and please, don’t be nervous, but I’m a police officer.’ Her dark skin paled and, as he leaned forward to show his warrant card, he saw the way she clasped her hands together, tightly. Nevertheless she took the time to compare his photograph with his face, something most never do. As he looked up so she could study his features, he had no trouble sensing her fear.
‘Wh-what do you want Mr… Carver?’
‘Please, you can call me Jamie.’ She didn’t nod, or smile. ‘I just want to ask you a few questions. If that’s alright?’
‘What about?’
He hesitated, knowing it could go one of two ways. ‘Now don’t worry, I’m not anything to do with immigration or anything like that, but I’m trying to trace an Armenian family by the name of Danelian. I think you may be able to help me.’
Her reaction confirmed what her appearance had already told him. A look of panic came into her face, she squirmed in her chair and a shiver rippled through her body. At that moment Carver knew without any shadow of a doubt he had found the family they were looking for. A wave of relief swept through him that he had done so in time. Thank God. But as he sat forward, not too much, just enough to establish who was in charge, a remarkable thing happened.
From her initial reactions, he had anticipated that in the next few seconds – certainly as soon as he hit her with a couple of direct questions - she would cave in and tell him everything he needed to know - about her, her family and, if she did know anything, her brother. He had seen it countless times in people who had borne burdensome secrets for a long time and now faced exposure, total and utter capitulation. But instead of collapsing, Lucy closed her eyes, gathered herself, and drew herself up in her chair. When they opened again there was a strange serenity there that had been absent seconds before, and she didn’t try to avoid his searching gaze as she said.
‘I’m sorry Chief Inspector, I’ve never come across a family of that name.’
It was one of the most blatant lies Carver had ever been handed. For several seconds he was so shocked he wasn’t sure what to make of it. His normal response would be to hit her with some quick-fire questions, shatter her defences and open her up. And though the lie had taken him by surprise, he was still certain he could do it. But some other instinct – he wasn’t certain which one – stalled him. Lucy wasn’t a criminal. She and her family were, as far he was concerned, potential victims. And whilst he knew nothing about them, the fact they had been driven to seek refuge from their past in a foreign land drew his sympathy. Nevertheless, he needed to get to the truth.
For several seconds more he stared at her, thinking on which line of questioning would bring he
r round most quickly. Again to his surprise, she sat quiet and calm, returning his stare with no trace of self-consciousness or embarrassment. If he had allowed himself to acknowledge it, the look in her face would be saying, ‘Whatever you ask, I will deny it.’ Which was exactly what she proceeded to do.
Over the next twenty minutes, first sensitively, then cajolingly, eventually more directly, Carver tried to get her to admit she was Lucine Danelian. He stressed again he was nothing to do with the immigration authorities and that his only interest was in keeping her and her family safe. In so doing he shared with her everything he knew about her brother and the terrible plight her family had found themselves in all those years ago, and which had culminated in their flight to the UK. He recounted what Mikayel Kahramanyan had told him about what had happened in the asylum and her brother’s escape. He showed her his photograph, described his trail through Turkey and Cyprus, and referred, in not too much detail, to the Maleeva family slayings that only that day had confirmed her brother’s presence on these shores. But through it all, Lucy maintained total ignorance, though she remembered to show the appropriate level of disquiet and horror on hearing of such awful events.
Even when, exasperated to the point of disbelief, he accused her, outright, of lying and what was more, she knew he knew she was lying, she kept up the distant front that, for some reason Carver could not begin to imagine, she had decided to put up. When he threatened to take her into ‘protective custody’ - not that such a thing exists for adults - she called his bluff and simply asked to be allowed to speak with a solicitor.
Eventually, Carver sat back in his chair, nonplussed. In all his experience he had never come across anyone so determined to not only deny the obvious, but also to not even acknowledge, to the slightest degree, she may be lying. Her performance was so bare-faced it would, in other circumstances, have bordered on the comical. Even the most hardened criminal lets slip a sly smile now and then when expressing their shock/horror/ disappointment that someone should think them capable of the heinous crime for which they had been arrested.
And as he sat looking across at her, forced into having to reassess every assumption he had made concerning how things would proceed once they found Vahrig Danelian’s family, Carver realised. Lucy Donovan wasn’t simply a woman scared to admit who she was. During his vain attempts to draw her out, he had given her every assurance he could think of. Her family would be protected. Their status as immigrants would be ratified so that they could remain in the UK; after such a long time and given their history, he was certain it would pose no problem. That despite her brother’s horrific crimes there was no reason Lucy or her family should harbour feelings of guilt. None of it had any effect. There’s got to be something else, he reasoned. But what? Whatever it was, it had to be pretty major.
‘You’re making a big mistake, Lucy.’ He said it matter-of-factly, with no hint of implied threat, as if ready to accept defeat. Even that didn’t work.
‘I am sure you think that most genuinely Chief Inspector, but as I have said, you are mistaken in this matter. I am sorry I only wish I could help. It sounds like this poor family needs your protection badly.’
He heaved a long sigh. Though there were grounds on which he could, if he so wished, arrest her – her suspected illegal status for one – something nagged at him, making him hesitate. Clearly intelligent, she had to know, deep down that he knew full well she was lying. And that he wasn’t going to let things rest here. His next step would be to visit her at home and either there or through her, find the rest of her family. It wouldn’t take him long, and she would know that too.
So why continue with such a transparent deception?
There was only one thing he could think of in such a situation. Without saying anything further, he slipped into a reflective silence, eyes staring in her direction but without focusing, as if seeing off into the distance. As he drifted away, a puzzled look came into her face, and for the first time since putting on the mask, she looked uncertain.
‘Chief Inspector? Are you alright?’ When he didn’t answer, she sat forward in her chair, as if undecided whether she was free to leave or not. After a few more seconds he returned. His eyes focused on her once more, but now there was a certainty in them that had been absent before.
He reached over to the desk for a piece of paper and took out his pen. Putting them down in front of her he said simply. ‘Your address. The right one please.’
She looked at him uncertainly, then wrote. As she put the pen down he snatched the paper up so quickly she jumped and the look in her eyes was almost disbelieving as he glanced at it once, then tucked it away inside his jacket. Next he dug into his wallet, took out his card and wrote his mobile number on the back. He handed it across to her. ‘Take this. When you’ve thought about it, done what you have to do, call me, any time, day or night. There isn’t much time.’ He stood up.
She looked up at him, surprise evident in her face. It was the closest he had come to unsettling her. ‘I- I’m free to go?’
‘Why should I detain you? You say you aren’t the person I’m looking for.’
She rose, hesitatingly, her eyes never leaving him, as if expecting he might suddenly produce a pair of handcuffs and detain her after all. When he stepped away, clearing a path to the main door - not the adjoining one they had come in by - he sensed the relief, and disbelief, within her. She had been expecting she would be arrested.
As he moved aside to let her pass she stopped and turned towards him. Their eyes met and it was as if she was seeing him for the first time. She opened her mouth to say something, thought better of it, then turned to go.
‘Lucy.’
She stopped in the doorway but didn’t turn.
‘Don’t leave it too long.’
She stood there for a few seconds, then completed her exit. Carver listened as her heels marked a quick-tempoed staccato down the corridor. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she had started running.
He gave it a couple of minutes, getting his head round what he had to do next, before taking out his phone and ringing Neil Booth at the NCA’s Longsight office.
‘I hope you’re not ringing to tell me you’ve got another of those bloody newsletters,’ Neil said on hearing Carver’s voice. ‘The last one gave me earache for a week.’
‘I need a baby-sit job, Neil. And tooled up.’
The reference to an armed operation swept Neil’s domestic concerns away. ‘Just a minute. PEN, SOMEBODY.’
Quickly, Carver briefed him on Operation Aslan, the Maleeva family murders that morning – ‘I heard,’ Neil said. ‘The force is buzzing over it.’ - and Lucy Donovan.
‘You mean now?’ he said as Carver finished and he realised what he was being asked to do.
‘Yesterday, preferably,’ Carver said. ‘We’ve no idea where he is or what he’s planning next. He could try to get to them any time.’
‘Jesus Christ, Jamie, you don’t want much do you?’ Carver didn’t bother responding. Neil knew him well enough that he wouldn’t need further justification, and he was the best Carver had ever seen at organising rush jobs. Sure enough, his next words were, ‘What’s the address?’
After admitting he wasn’t sure whether the rest of Lucy’s family were there or not, - ‘It’s another reason why I need the surveillance,’ – Carver wound it up. He needed to get back to SMIU, asap. ‘Can I leave the authorities to you?’ he said, referencing the need for Chief Officer approval for pre-planned armed operations.
‘Tell you what. Give me a brush and I’ll stick it up my-.’
‘Thanks Neil. I owe you.’
‘If you don’t hear back, assume we’ve got the green light.’
Carver rang off then tried SMIU. Jess answered, just back from the mortuary.
‘Is West there?’ Carver said.
‘He’s talking to Charlie Brook about who’s running the MIR.’ Brook was Greater Manchester’s Assistant Chief Constable - Crime.
‘I thought
the SLA says SMIU takes precedence?’ Carver remembered being surprised that, for once, a Service Level Agreement was actually clear about where responsibility would lie for running a Murder Incident Room.
‘It does. Brook hasn’t got round to reading it yet.’
Carver shook his head. Typical. ‘Well tell Terry not to go anywhere. I need to see him.’
‘I’m not so sure he’ll be that keen on seeing you right now.’
‘I’ve found the Danelians.’
‘WHAT? Where? How?’
But Carver had gone.
CHAPTER 40
Lucy felt a touch on her arm and looked around. The West Indian gentleman sitting next to her was staring at her strangely, pointing a finger, ahead. ‘I think he’s talking to you.’
Following his direction she turned to see a black face she recognised, looking back at her. It was the man who often drove the bus on the route home. Then she realised. She was on the bus. Another panic took her, the latest of many she seemed to remember. As she looked around, her thought was, How did I get here?
The driver’s voice drifted down the aisle and she turned again in his direction.
‘This is your stop isn’t it, Miss?’
Spinning round, she looked out the window. It was her stop. She jumped up from her seat as if she’d been electrocuted, causing the man who’d nudged her to regard her with some apprehension. Disoriented, she started towards the door then stopped to look back at the man who was just beginning to relax. The apprehensive look returned as she spoke to him.
‘Did I… did I have any bags with me?’
‘Bags? What sort of bags wom-an?’
She tried to remember, couldn’t and gave up. ‘Never mind.’
As the bus pulled away, she stood at the kerb, trying to get her bearings. She knew where she was now. Her street was just fifty yards along the road. But everything seemed strange, out of place. It made her wonder if it was how dementia sufferers feel when they first start to lose track of themselves.
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