She couldn’t believe she couldn’t even remember getting on the bus. In fact thinking about it, she couldn’t remember anything from the moment she left the DP’s office. My God, she thought, what is happening to me? She remembered speaking to the policeman of course, how could she not? And she knew what she had been thinking about since - recalling every word he had said so she could play it back to herself later and decide what to do. Now, after going over it several times, it was all as clear in her mind as if she had transcribed it from dictation.
It was the journey home she couldn’t remember.
Gradually, it came to her what had happened. Absorbed, totally, in re-living the nightmare of her meeting with the detective, she must have left college, walked to the bus stop, got on the bus, shown her pass, and ridden home, without any of it registering in her consciousness. The thought she could do such a thing scared her, but having realised what had happened she relaxed a little. But not about the other things. The other things she was still panicking over.
She still didn’t know how she had managed to withstand his questions. But she recalled, painfully, the vision that came to her the moment he mentioned the name Danelian, a name she had not heard in a long, long time. And in that vision she saw, with crystal clarity, what would happen if she ever hinted at there being so much as a grain of truth in what he was saying. It would be too awful, too much for them to bear, for her mother to bear. There was only one possible way to deal with it, to pretend that he was wrong and, that for as long as he was going to speak with her, she was not Lucy Donovan - at least not the Lucy Donovan he was seeking.
If it had not been for her past experiences she would not have been able to keep it up. Not for so long at any rate and certainly not against someone as persistent as that detective. For Lucy had had long experience of denial, half a lifetime’s in fact.
In the months after she first discovered the truth, pretending something to be true that was patently not, had not come easily to her. Despite everything, her mother had brought her up to be truthful and honest. But as the weeks and months passed, she learned how to make it easier for herself. She learned to imagine that the way she wished things had been, was the way they had been. That the way things actually were, was just some nightmare she had once dreamed and could therefore confine to history, the way a child’s favourite book initially stays bright in the memory, but as the years roll by it dims until it is just a story they once read.
In this way, Lucy had learned to live with the horror that had been part of her life for so long. And it was the means she used to withstand the detective’s questions. Remembering him again, she even began to feel a little sorry for him. He had been easier on her than she had expected the police might be if they ever came calling, at least to begin with. Later, he did begin to show his frustration, including raising his voice. But it was only the once, and she wouldn’t hold that against him. In fact, to her surprise she had almost believed him when he said she could trust him. It made her wonder what she would do if things were different, if… She put the thought out of her mind. Now that he wasn’t there she could admit to herself that things weren’t different. It was just unfortunate for him he had no way of knowing he was never going to get anywhere. That he could have continued to question her as long as he liked and still not broken her. Because for all the time he was talking to her, right up to the moment he stood up and told her she was free to leave, she was not that Lucy Donovan, but the other one. The Lucy Donovan she had learned to become all those years ago when the only way to stop herself committing a mortal sin that would damn her to Hell forever was to imagine a life other than the one she had lived. And the family that went with it of course. The oh-so-happy family every young girl had a right to wish for. No, the detective never really had a chance. He could even have-.
She stopped. It had happened again. She was at her front door, key in hand, with no recollection of walking from the bus stop. It worried her, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it. From now on she needed a clear mind to do what must be done.
She turned the key in the lock, took a deep breath, and stepped inside.
CHAPTER 41
Driving back to Salford, Carver couldn’t get Lucy or what he had witnessed her do, out of his mind. In all his service he had never come across anything like it. The part of him that was interested in such things wanted to understand more about how she had done it, but right now it didn’t matter. What mattered was, it was clear there were things going on in her life he neither knew of nor understood. More to the point, they were things she didn’t want him to know - over and above the fact she was Vahrig Danelian’s sister. Harper Lee had told him that much, at least.
Carver could never understand why people who claimed to have read Lee’s one-off classic, To Kill A Mockingbird, showed surprise when he credited it with being the bedrock for much of his investigative technique. Then again, while the novel is fascinating in the way it tells its story through the eyes of its eight-year old narrator, it probably isn’t the one most would think of if asked to name one that could inspire someone to become a detective.
After reading it when aged thirteen, Carver never forgot the words of Atticus Finch - the narrator’s indecently-wise lawyer-father. Entreating his young children, Scout and Jem, to understand why other people behave the way they do, he advises them, ‘Put on their clothes and walk around in them a bit.’ It summed up, perfectly, the technique Carver fell into using during his early years in the police. He had been refining it ever since. And it was the means by which he came to understand how and why Lucy Donovan was holding out against him.
Given that he barely knew her, anything the technique revealed was only ever going to be sketchy, at best. Nevertheless, the short time he spent, ‘walking around in her clothes’ was enough to make him realise that other than arresting her and subjecting her to physical torture, Lucy Donovan was not going to admit who she was. Not today at any rate. Which was why he gave up on the job and let her go. He knew who she was and where she lived. For the time being, that was enough.
He still wasn’t entirely certain what it was he saw during his brief ‘walkabout’. Several things came to him, not least that the main fear driving her denials, was nothing to do with the threat of being revealed as Lucy Danelian. It would take something of far greater consequence than having to deal with the immigration authorities to force someone who had been through what she had been through to stop being herself for a while. The only people Carver had ever come across capable of such a feat were the multiple-personality sufferers he’d once researched at the National Crime and Ops Faculty. And Carver was pretty sure Lucy Danelian was not suffering from any mental dysfunction.
His phone rang.
‘ Jamie? Just got your message.’ It was the man for whom he’d left the message after leaving Claire’s lab.
For the next few minutes, Carver talked while the other listened. Apart from the occasional, ‘Uh-huh,’ he remained mostly silent, his only reaction coming when Carver mentioned the name at the centre of things. ‘Oh,’ he said simply. He was used to hearing stories that would send many senior officers into a flat spin. When Carver finished there was a lengthy silence, but he could tell the man was still there. He could hear his heavy breathing. Eventually he said. ‘I’ll need to see you. First thing in the morning.’
Twenty minutes later, as he pulled into his parking bay, Carver was still musing over how it was that whenever you had two jobs running in parallel, you could guarantee that when one broke, so would the other.
Heading straight into SMIU, Carver found it buzzing with detectives shouting down telephones and wading through murder boxes. Terry West was waiting for him in Jess’s office. As he approached he saw Jess sitting behind her desk, her face betraying nothing other than curious expectancy. Next to her, West looked as pissed-off as it was possible to be. Knowing what was coming, Carver shut the door behind him. As he did so, he noticed the way the main office had fallen temporari
ly silent. Conscious he needed to snatch the initiative, Carver started speaking before he turned round.
‘I’m not bothered that you blew me out to Nigel Broom, Terry. And I don’t give a toss if you think I’m working against you in some way.’ As he faced front, West was making ready to say something so he continued. ‘The bottom line is I know where the Danelian family is and we need to move, fast. We can either spend the next half-hour trying to score points off each other, or we can get on with it, which is it to be?’
West ran his tongue over his lips, threw a glance at Jess – her eyebrows had formed into two graceful arches - then swallowed. For long seconds the pair stood facing each other, neither speaking.
‘Oh, for Pete’s sake,’ Jess said. It had the desired effect. Both men looked at her. ‘Let’s just do it shall we? Jamie, Terry will be happy to listen to whatever you’ve got, won’t you Terry? Jamie, please don’t wind Terry up.’
There was another brief silence before West nodded his agreement. ‘Go.’
Carver described how he had traced Lucy and his meeting with her. He produced the paper on which she’d written her address. For a moment, West forgot their supposed truce.
‘You let her go?’
‘Had to. Otherwise we’d have wasted more time trying to get her to come across. This way we’ve got something to work with.’ He told them of the surveillance he’d arranged through Neil Booth.
West showed surprise. ‘You’ve checked-out the address already?’
Carver shot a glance at Jess. ‘Not yet.’
‘So how do you know it’s right?’
Carver bit his lip. West had a lot to learn about trust. ‘I watched her write it down. Believe me, it’s right.’
Seeing West about to say something, Jess stepped in again. ‘Don’t, Terry. Just take it as read.’
West stared at Carver a moment longer, as if trying to decide whether he needed more convincing. Carver held his breath.
But when West looked up, it was to say, ‘Okay. Where do we go from here?’
CHAPTER 42
The ‘bong’ of a doorbell roused Mikayel Kahramanyan from his slumber and he opened his eyes. But as the lead cabin-crew member’s voice echoed through the plane, he remembered where he was.
‘Ladies and Gentlemen, we shall shortly be landing at Yerevan. Please ensure your seatbelts are fastened, your tables are stowed and your seats are in the upright position.’
Mikayel stretched himself as far as Economy allowed and bent down to gather the papers that had fallen from his lap as he slept. The itinerary the Ministry had emailed before he left was ridiculously ambitious. Nevertheless it reflected the urgent need to identity the several ‘suspect inmates’ being held at various locations and return them to whatever place of detention best suited their particular propensities. With secure places at a premium, the Ministry was desperate to know which needed escape-proof locks and bars, and which might, for the time being at least, make do with hospital care. And Mikayel knew from bitter experience how difficult it could be to tell the difference.
Thankfully, the photographs contained within the enclosures had helped. Despite the poor quality of many of the images and the filthy, bedraggled appearances of the subjects - most of the pictures looked like they had been taken soon after they had been taken back into custody - Mikayel had managed to positively identify at least a third of the thirty or so faces, and put names and question marks against another half-dozen. Once he got around them all and saw them in the flesh, he was confident he would be able to complete the task without too much delay.
Only one thing bothered him. There were still nearly a dozen inmates unaccounted for, among them one or two he worried to think might still be at large. Vahrig Danelian hadn’t been the only killer housed within the asylum, though thankfully, only a couple had come anywhere near to equalling his level of depravity - and violence.
Nevertheless, for that same reason he was looking forward to getting back and instigating a more coordinated search for those still missing. He couldn’t escape the feeling that during his absence the efforts the authorities had invested in tracking them down had not been as strenuous as they could have been.
As he slid the papers back into his briefcase, Mikayel’s eyes lit on the sleek contours of the snazzy leaving-gift Jess had given him. He was still amazed that such a breadth of capability could be housed within such a tiny device. Removing it from his case he cradled it in his palm, recalling the crash course she had given him on the gadget’s many functions during that last, very pleasant evening he spent alone in her company. It had been a highly enjoyable fifteen minutes, snuggling up as close as he dared, watching her fingers dance over the icons, smelling her perfume, feeling her arm brushing against his. With her smiling face before him, Mikayel sat back in his seat and for a few last minutes, managed to forget the wretched individuals with whom he was about to reacquaint himself.
It was growing dark outside and the low-wattage bulb in the room’s only lamp was fighting a losing battle against the descending gloom. A stale smell of cigarettes hung in the air, though thankfully the middle-aged woman sitting across from Carver was yet to light up. The room itself was cheaply furnished. The best a woman like Alice Halfpenny, living alone with her memories, could manage, Carver thought. He wondered when she had last bought anything new, and stifled a shudder as the thought came that he could be witnessing the future of another, someone he cared deeply about. Forcing the idea away he focused on what he was there to do.
As he looked up at the worn-out features many men had once found desirable, Carver prepared himself. She was glaring at him now, defying him to prove there was any useful purpose to be served by speaking to her. It had taken all of his powers of persuasion just to get through the high-rise flat’s door and in truth, he would rather have left it to another time, particularly in view of what was happening across the city. But the ball had started rolling and he needed to be certain it wasn’t going to come to a stop before making his next move. He leaned forward in his chair, as he had done once already that day, and hoped things would go better than on that occasion.
‘I know I said I wanted to speak to you about your brother, Alice.’
‘Hmmph.’
‘That wasn’t entirely correct.’
‘I knew it. You lot can’t tell the truth to save your life.’
He ignored her cynicism. Though her bitterness was plain to see, he also knew only part of it could be laid at the door of people like him.
‘Do you ever see Brendan?’
‘Phah.’ Flecks of spittle crossed the divide and landed on his cheek. He ignored them. ‘I’ve not seen him since he went down.’
‘I thought you were close.’
‘Used to be. But not since….’ She waved a hand. ‘You know.’
‘But you stood by him at the trial.’
‘That was before I heard… what he did.’
Carver nodded. It is always hardest for those who stay loyal, but then come to realise the truth when they eventually hear all the evidence.
‘Well as I said, it’s not Brendan I actually want to speak about.’
‘What then? Get on with it. Eastenders is on in a minute.’
Great. He took a deep breath. No going back. ‘I believe you used to know a detective….’
CHAPTER 43
The next day, Carver spent most of his time to-ing and fro-ing between his office and the Operation Aslan control set up in the office behind Jess’s. He and West had agreed that, for now at least, West would look after the Maleeva Murder Room, while Carver would concentrate on the surveillance on Lucy Donovan and her family.
It seemed a reasonable compromise, but Carver was in little doubt that once it was all over, and The Duke was back in harness, West would be after him to do something about Carver. And though he and The Duke were close, he also knew The Duke would have to show support for his deputy. He didn’t dwell on it. After his phone call to Nigel Broom that morning – �
��I need to tell you what I’m doing, and why’ - his boss would already have put the machinery in progress that would eventually spit out a new posting for him. Somewhere remote, he suspected, and in a black suit. No matter, right now the only thing he was interested in was ensuring that whenever Vahrig Danelian made his move on Lucy and her family, someone was there to stop him. In that regard the updates from Neil Booth’s surveillance team - now coming through hourly - were bare to say the least. So far no one had left the house, though early on Lucy had been glimpsed taking in milk off the doorstep. When she hadn’t appeared by nine, Jess made a bogus call to her work and spoke with her blonde colleague. Lucy had rung in sick, but had given no indication how long she might be off. Later on, an older woman - Lucy’s mother they assumed - was seen in the back garden, taking in washing. There had been no sightings since.
Mid morning, the SMIU DI from Yorkshire came in with the results of her enquires with the local council, DWP - Department of Work and Pensions - and the utility companies. As well as Lucine, there were two other ‘Donovans’ living in the house, Tamara and Giragos, presumably her parents. Tamara and Giragos were in receipt of a surprisingly comprehensive package of benefits, including Income Support and a range of invalidity/incapacity benefits. Earlier, a NCA Immigration Desk colleague of Carver’s had confirmed none of the family had ever applied for residency or citizen status. Carver wondered at the extent of the late Radi Maleeva’s ‘fixing operations’ and made a mental note to include in his submission to Nigel Broom’s strategy Document – if he ever got to finish it – something about plugging the communication gaps between DWP and the Immigration Service.
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