Behind Closed Doors

by Elizabeth Haynes

  “Hi, Jason,” she said, her tone businesslike. “I wonder if you could help me out with something else.”

  “Sure, if I can,” he said. “What’s up?”

  “I was wondering if you could do me another profile. Can you have a look for the latest intel on the Cunningham OCG? Current links to other networks, that kind of thing—and specifically anything outside their usual criminality, i.e. not drugs-related?”

  There was a brief pause at the other end of the line. “I’m pretty tied up with things right now,” he said. “Is it urgent?”

  “I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t,” she replied.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “Bye for now.”

  Date: Monday 4 November 2013

  To: DCI Louisa SMITH

  From: Jason MERCER

  Re: Recent Intel on CUNNINGHAM OCG

  Further to your request for a subject profile on the CUNNINGHAM OCG (OCG 233), please note that there is insufficient recent intelligence to produce a full document. Three recent intel reports are summarised below but contrary to your request are all drugs-related.

  09/09/13 (B/4/4)

  Darren CUNNINGHAM DOB 12/11/1976 is expecting a delivery of drugs soon.

  16/09/13 (B/4/4)

  Darren CUNNINGHAM DOB 12/11/1976 is expecting a delivery of several kilos of cocaine. It is believed the drugs will be received over the night of 19/20 September 2013.

  23/09/13 (B/4/4)

  Darren CUNNINGHAM DOB 12/11/1976 was expecting to take delivery of cocaine in the past few days. Something went wrong with this delivery and the drugs were not received.

  Regards,

  Jason

  LOU

  Monday 4 November 2013, 16:27

  Lou was bulk-deleting emails and almost deleted Jason’s email by accident. He’d sent it ten minutes earlier, when she’d been in the briefing with Rob Jefferson. House-to-house had been completed, with no positive results. The briefing was over quickly and the next one scheduled for tomorrow morning.

  She scanned through the email and the attachment, then reached for the phone.

  It rang for a while before he answered.

  “Lou,” he said. “I was just on my way out.”

  She looked up at the clock on the other side of the room. It was nearly half-past four. “Sorry,” she said, wondering whether he had hockey practice this evening. “Not much on the Cunninghams, is there? I’m surprised.”

  “There are a few more—stopchecks and associations. But you said you just wanted the stuff on any criminal activity that wasn’t drug distribution, right?”

  “Well—yes. I suppose so,” Lou said, thinking it wouldn’t have killed him to be a bit more thorough. Oh, well. “I guess I can look the rest up myself. Anyway, thank you for the report.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, “although you know I can’t keep doing you favors.”

  Lou bristled. “I wasn’t aware I was asking you for a favor,” she said.

  “You have Zoe Adams working on that job,” he said. “She’s a great analyst, and when you asked if she needed any help she rightly told you she didn’t. So I’m not sure why you asked me to do the report and not her.”

  Lou stood up. This wasn’t a conversation that would be helped in any way by her being seated. “Zoe Adams has a lot of urgent things to do,” she said coldly. “I asked you to do something that’s part of your job. If you were too busy to do it, you could have just said so. I’d appreciate it if you would be honest in future if you don’t feel able to help.”

  “Hey, I just don’t want to feel like I’m your tame analyst for the rest of my life, because we have a relationship.”

  Lou took a deep breath. “Well, I’m glad you’ve made your feelings on that subject so crystal clear.”

  “Don’t be like that,” he said. “This isn’t personal.”

  “You’re the one who just made it personal,” she said. But the fight had gone out of her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “It feels like I keep making things worse.”

  “Yes,” she said. “That’s exactly what you’re doing. I don’t even know why I’m still speaking to you.”

  “If it’s any good,” he said, “I just found another intel report that might be of some use. It’s still about drugs, though, sorry.”

  He hadn’t just done the minimum, then. At least he’d carried on looking. “Oh, really? Why was it not with the others?”

  “I think it got missed because someone has spelled “Cunningham” wrong, and that created a duplicate nominal. I’ll email it to you.”

  “Right,” she said. And, grudgingly, “Thanks.”

  “I’ll call you in the morning,” he said, “in case there’s anything else you need.”

  “Don’t bother,” she said, but with a smile now. “I’ll find myself another tame analyst.”

  A few moments later, her email server pinged.

  Intel Report on Darren Cummingham

  5X5X5 INTELLIGENCE REPORT

  Date: 23 September 2013

  Officer: PC 12241 Miles BACK

  Subject: Darren CUMMINGHAM DOB 12/12/1976

  Grading: B / 4 / 1

  There is a feud developing between Darren CUMMINGHAM (OCG 233) and the McDONNELL group (OCG 041). This started because one of CUMMINGHAM’s runners was warned off for dealing in one of the pubs controlled by the McDONNELLs. CUMMINGHAM is not happy and is getting Paul STARK to sort it out for him. Research shows:

  Paul STARK aka Reggie DOB 04/05/1982

  Lewis McDONNELL DOB 21/10/1953

  Harry McDONNELL DOB 06/07/1956

  LOU

  Monday 4 November 2013, 17:02

  Even though she was the last one in the Incident Room, Lou still felt a twinge of guilt when she shut down her workstation and rooted through her bag for her car keys. She didn’t usually finish this early when a new job had come in, but it had been a long day and she was shattered. Arguing with Jason didn’t help. All her focus had gone.

  Five minutes later, sitting in stationary traffic in the one-way system, Lou remembered the other reason why she never left at this time. The misspelled intelligence Jason had found was twisting around inside her head. Something about it bothered her, and not just the sloppy work that had caused it to be misplaced on the database.

  So the Cunningham OCG and the McDonnell OCG were in dispute—this was new. They’d never been in competition before. The McDonnells concentrated on trafficking; even importing drugs was only a sideline for them, and according to the intelligence most of the drugs they brought into the country went north, bypassing Eden altogether. Cunningham controlled the drugs market in Briarstone, everyone knew that, even the McDonnells—as far back as Lou could remember, they’d skirted around each other and didn’t step on each other’s toes. Didn’t associate or collaborate, either, which had always been a good thing. But now they were in opposition, just because one of Cunningham’s runners had been warned about dealing in a pub? There had to be more to it.

  If the McDonnells were involved, the pub referred to was probably one of the pubs owned by Carl McVey—one of the intel reports had said he was money laundering for them—and Aaron Sutcliffe had said Palmer had been dealing in the Railway Tavern.

  So the runner that had been warned off dealing in one of McVey’s pubs—what if that had been Ian Palmer? Aaron Sutcliffe had told Les that Ian was dealing for either Cunningham or Mitchell Roberts, and everything they knew about Ian Palmer and his family suggested that if he was working for anyone it would be Cunningham. But that didn’t explain why he’d ended up in hospital—even if he’d been dealing in McVey’s pub, even if he’d been warned off—putting him in a coma seemed extreme, even for the McDonnell OCG.

  By the time she got home, Lou’s head was pounding with it. Enough. It would keep, at least until she’d taken some painkillers and had a shower; perhaps then it would start to make sense.

  But if that was it—if Palmer had been assaulted because he’d pisse
d off Carl McVey—it was possible that Cunningham had retaliated. Considering the level of violence involved, it seemed likely that the intel was right. There was a feud, a bad one; and it was escalating right on Lou’s doorstep.

  SAM

  Monday 4 November 2013, 17:10

  “I probably shouldn’t be doing this,” Sam said.

  “Doing what?”

  “Giving you lifts everywhere.”

  They were driving back to the hotel, without Juliette, who was going to be brought over later by Caro Sumner. They had managed to get authorization to put Juliette up in the same hotel for tonight, since she clearly couldn’t go home: it was still a crime scene and nobody was allowed anywhere near the house until that particular part of the investigation was complete. Sam had called through to the duty inspector in the control room to get authorization for a second room at the Travel Inn. Halfway through an embarrassing discussion about budgets and cuts and why they couldn’t share a room when they were sisters, Scarlett had interrupted and told Sam that she didn’t mind sharing. Sam still felt uncomfortable about it, given that Scarlett and Juliette hadn’t seen each other for years and were in the middle of a particularly stressful situation. But Scarlett did not seem bothered by the prospect; on the contrary, she seemed almost happy.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the hospital instead, to see your mother?” Sam asked.

  “No. She’s unconscious—it’s not like I can do anything, is it?”

  “Right,” Sam said, “if you’re sure.”

  “What’s going to happen tomorrow?” Scarlett asked.

  “Tomorrow?”

  “With the hotel. You only got me two nights, didn’t you? This is the last one.”

  “You can still engage with the National Referral Mechanism, you know. If you’ve been trafficked, they can get you access to housing, all of that . . .”

  “I can’t do that,” Scarlett said quickly.

  “All right. I’ll speak to the boss in the morning about the hotel.”

  “Honestly, it’s fine about the sharing, if that helps at all. Juliette won’t care.”

  “How do you know?” Sam said.

  Scarlett looked away, out of the window. “If she does, I’m sure she’ll tell you.”

  They drove in silence for a few minutes. It had been a long day and Sam was more tired than she’d felt in years. All she could think about was whether there was something edible in the freezer at home, and whether she was going to cook it before or after falling asleep in a deep, warm bath.

  The car park at the hotel was almost empty, the buildings huddled under the dark evergreen trees looking chilly and desolate.

  “Come in for a drink with me,” Scarlett said.

  “What?”

  “Please. Just one. I can’t face going in there on my own. Stay with me till Juliette gets here?”

  “Scarlett, I really can’t do this . . .”

  “What have you got to rush home for?” Scarlett said.

  “Scarlett, no. It’s not a good idea.”

  “Please. I just . . . I really need someone to talk to. Please, Sam.”

  There was something about her voice that got to Sam. It wasn’t vulnerability.

  “All right,” she said. “One drink.”

  There was nobody in the bar. Not even anyone serving, until Sam went into the reception area and asked if they were actually open. A few minutes later the receptionist came in and got Scarlett a pint of lager and a lemonade for Sam.

  Scarlett was already sitting in the corner, a pair of comfy chairs to one side of a cold, dead fireplace. “Cheerful in here, isn’t it?”

  “Could be worse,” Sam replied, then saw Scarlett’s expression. They both laughed.

  Sam sat down, trying to not let Scarlett see that her cheeks were flushed. She had had a sudden, worrying realization that Scarlett was flirting with her. Maybe this was what Lou had sensed, when she had accused Sam of letting her objectivity be compromised. It wasn’t. Whatever Scarlett wanted, Sam was definitely not going down that route. Getting too involved with a witness had cost Jo her job, her well-being and her relationship with Sam—whether it was a homeless young asylum-seeker or Scarlett, it wasn’t a good idea. Well, it didn’t matter, anyway. Tomorrow Scarlett would have to find somewhere else to go, with her sister, and in a few weeks the likelihood would be that they would no longer be any of Sam’s concern.

  “Listen,” Scarlett said, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

  “Go on,” she said.

  “It’s not that I’ve lied, or anything like that.”

  Here we go. “Scarlett,” Sam said, “if this is something serious—we should go and do it properly.”

  “No, no,” she said. “You don’t need to worry. I just need to clear something up.”

  “Right.”

  There was direct eye contact between them. Scarlett’s eyes, so like her mother’s. “I like you,” she said. “I want to tell you everything. And it feels like you’ve got things a bit wrong somewhere.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I wasn’t trafficked back into the U.K. I made my own way here.”

  Well, Sam thought, that explained a lot. And nothing at all. “How?”

  “I managed to get away. It’s a long story. But anyway, nobody brought me here against my will. So I can’t give you any information about trafficking, and I can’t help you, so there’s no point in me accessing any “Referral Mechanism,” is there?”

  “So you were in that house in Carisbrooke Court of your own free will?”

  “Yes, I guess so.”

  “You guess so?”

  “I didn’t have anywhere else to go. They let me stay there. I answered the phone, did cleaning, went on errands, that sort of thing. It was better than being on the streets.”

  “Why were you afraid, Scarlett? If they weren’t keeping you there against your will?”

  “I was scared someone would think I’d grassed them up,” she said.

  “Who?”

  “Any of them. The girls, the men that run them, the punters. It’s not the sort of place you can develop much trust.”

  “Who are the men that run the girls?”

  Scarlett said, “I don’t know who they are. They kept away, used runners to collect the money.”

  “Okay. Who are the runners?”

  Scarlett watched her for a moment. “Look, I don’t know their real names. Nobody uses their real names, do they? I didn’t. I was called Katie.”

  “You said something about a Reg to me, on Friday. You said something like, you had friends, you could have been sitting on Reg’s sofa watching Sky TV. So who’s Reg?”

  “Are you interrogating me now?” Scarlett said, smiling.

  “You said you wanted to be honest with me, Scarlett. Stop playing games.”

  “I said I had something to tell you, and I’ve said it. I’m not playing games. Much as I like playing games with you.”

  Sam decided she was going to ignore that last bit. “Why didn’t you tell us before that you were there willingly?”

  “Because I thought if I told you I was just working there, you’d arrest me for something. Or else you’d realize I wasn’t of any use to you and I’d be out on the streets with nowhere to go.”

  “Why not go back to your family? Why have you been here in Briarstone and not gone to see them, to tell them you were alive and well?”

  Scarlett looked away, as if considering her response. “I’m not exactly their idea of a model child, am I?”

  “Whatever you think you are, you’re still their daughter . . .” Sam stopped, realizing that Scarlett was now on the verge of being an orphan.

  “It’s been a long time,” Scarlett said. “I needed time to get my act together, think about what I was going to do with my life. I’ve had . . . I’ve had some pretty rough days. I don’t sleep well. As you’ve seen, my family was never what you’d call loving, and it doesn’t look to me as though
they’ve changed much.”

  “Scarlett,” Sam said, “what do you think happened to them last night?”

  Scarlett hesitated. “No idea. You said it was a robbery, didn’t you?”

  Sam said nothing.

  “Well, maybe it was linked to that burglary. Maybe whoever it was wanted something, and they came back and got disturbed. I don’t know. I know you think I should be sorry, that I should care more about it, but these people are like strangers to me, Sam. It’s Juliette I’m worried about. She can’t cope with things like this.”

  Sam took a deep breath in, trying to give nothing away. “Juliette seems to be doing all right so far. Do you want another drink?”

  “Yes, please. Another pint.”

  Sam still had half of her lemonade to drink, but she got up and called through the back of the bar to the reception desk.

  18:40

  “I really need to go home.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Scarlett was finishing her second pint. “Thanks for staying.”

  “Juliette will be here any minute, I bet. Caro’s bringing her.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll come and get you tomorrow morning,” Sam said. “I need to get a proper statement out of you.”

  “What sort of statement?”

  “It’s fine,” Sam said. “It won’t take long. It’s just the same thing Juliette’s been doing with Caro and the family liaison officer.”

  Sam pulled her jacket on and Scarlett, arms crossed, walked with her to the porch.

  “Don’t stay out here getting cold,” Sam said. Scarlett was following her out to the car.

  “I’m not cold,” she said in reply. “Sam . . .” Without warning, Scarlett moved closer, put her hand on Sam’s cheek. Sam pulled back immediately.

  “No,” she said, “don’t.”

  “You don’t mean that,” Scarlett whispered. “Come back inside with me.”

  They were standing just outside the hotel entrance. It was dark out here, cold.

  “Scarlett, this isn’t going to happen.” Sam said.