Consequences (8 page)

Jack ate his porridge in silence the next morning, and Jen knew only too well how much he’d tossed and turned.

‘Hindsight’s a wonderful thing love,’ she said as she kissed him goodbye. ‘Keep in touch, eh?’ He smiled, but had a look of distraction.

‘What a dismal start to the day,’ Dylan thought, as he drove into the yard at Harrowfield. It could only get better though. He sighed as he extracted his briefcase from the boot and went into the office. The rumours he’d heard about Larry were exaggerated; Chinese whispers, surely? Talking to the Custody Sergeant, Dylan found out Larry at six fifteen a.m had been bailed after a further breathalyser test showed that he was no longer over the prescribed legal limit. He desperately needed to speak to him. Larry had hit rock bottom, Dylan was concerned for his welfare but it was also now out of his hands. He tried his mobile, fully expecting him to have it turned off, but surprisingly, he got an instant response to his call, in the form of a text.

‘
Sorry Boss. Don’t worry. I’m okay.’

‘Sure?’
Dylan texted back.

‘Just give me a few days to get my head round things. I’ll call you.’

Larry knew his clock was ticking; time was running out. It was going to be goodbye to any pension. He poured himself a vodka. His own car impounded, he flipped through the phone book trying to find a place to hire one. He wasn’t banned yet; he could hire a car and get the camper van delivered for his holidays, before he was. He just needed to decide what to do then.

Dylan sat studying staffing at sergeant level. The job had to go on and he’d have to check with HQ personnel to see who was on the list. There was a knock at the door and as it opened slowly, he saw Dawn struggling with two steaming cups of coffee.

‘Come on in, you’ve just made my day.’ He said, as he smiled at her warmly. Dawn looked pale and drawn; in fact, rather green around the gills. She put the coffee on his desk and after closing the door she sat down opposite him.

‘Dawn?’

‘I need to tell you something...in confidence.’ She looked down at the floor, holding her cup with one hand and stroking it with the other.

‘Are you okay?’

She looked up, tears in her eyes. ’I’m pregnant.’

Dylan breathed a sigh of relief, ‘Dawn, for goodness sake that’s wonderful news. I bet you and Ralph are over the moon,’ he said smiling.

‘Well yeah...but no one thought to warn me about how bad morning sickness is,’ she said

Dylan chuckled.

‘It’s not funny. I’m told it can last for sixteen weeks. Sixteen...bloody...weeks.’

Dylan couldn’t contain his laughter; it lifted him but he realised how much he’d miss her.

‘You may laugh but I’ve tried everything from standing on my head to the BRATT diet.’

Dylan’s eyebrows rose as he sniggered. ‘The what?’

‘Bananas, rice, apple sauce, toast, tea, and cabbage, ginger nuts and crackers, but nothing seems to be working. Oh, I wasn’t going to tell anyone. I don’t want it to change the job I’m doing, but as you can see, I’m wrecked.’ she said, splaying her arms.

Dylan looked thoughtful his face full of concern. ‘Well now you have told me there’s no turning back, you do realise don’t you? My hands are tied; your role has got to change. I’m sorry but I can’t have you doing anything that would jeopardize yours or the baby’s health...you do understand?’

‘I know, but Jack,’ she pleaded.

‘No buts, Dawn. I know you’ll hate me for it but I can’t have it on my conscience. If anything happened . . .’ Dawn’s chin dropped to her chest sulkily and he tried to lighten the mood.

‘So how many weeks are you then?’

‘Thirteen, I think.’

‘So, it could go on for another two weeks? When do you go for the scan? Or have you had one?’ His interest was genuine and excitement rose in his voice.

‘I’m booked in at the antenatal clinic next week, so I should know more when I’ve been. Even so, I’d rather people didn’t know just yet, if that’s okay with you.’

‘Well, let’s just think about that one, Dawn. I’ve got an office full of detectives; a building full of police officers...you’re throwing up in the morning. Don’t you think they might just guess at some point? You can’t carry on doing what you’ve been doing either...so it might just be easier if you told them.’

Dawn frowned.

‘Look, I might have a solution that’ll be right up your street,’ he said smiling.

Dawn scowled. ‘I’m all ears.’

‘What about Acting DI in charge of Child Protection?’

She lifted her head and stared at him, disbelieving.

‘This must be serendipity. Believe it or not I’ve just had a call from Harriet, and she’s off on maternity leave in a week, which would give you chance to shadow her before you take over. Deal?’ he said grinning, obviously thrilled with himself.

‘That would be fantastic.’ Her face beamed. I was dreading you putting me in the control room.’

‘Well, at least this way you’ll still be operationally involved but you won’t, and I repeat you won’t - be involved in any arrests or enquiries where you could pick up something nasty or get injured. Right?’

‘Yes sir.’ Dawn nodded, still wide-eyed with surprise.

‘You’ve got to look after number one and two now. Child Protection is busy, and it’s good lateral development for when you go for the DI boards in the future. Or are you going to shock us all and become a full-time mum?’ Dylan said.

‘Heavens, no. We haven’t thought that far ahead. I’m just concentrating on getting through one day at a time at the moment.’ Dawn felt in her pocket, and produced, not only a beautiful embroidered hankie to dab her mouth with but a half - eaten packet of arrowroot biscuits. She took the one off the top, blew it and offered one to Dylan from the pack.

‘Are you sure this is not just a good excuse for eating biscuits Dawn?’ He took one, smiling.

‘I wish it bloody was. Do you really think they’d be plain ones?’ she said grimacing.

‘have you heard what happened to Larry?’ Dylan said looking sombre.

‘Yeah, it’s sad but why aren’t I surprised?’ she said, absentmindedly trying to fish a half dunked biscuit out of her cup with a spoon. ‘He was always an accident waiting to happen with his drinking habit, all his own doing, no self-control, no sympathy.’ She gave up and stirred it in. ‘How’s the elderly gentleman doing?’

‘Fractured hip, a bit like Jen’s mum. It’s not good.’

‘Poor Jen, it must have brought it all back.’

Dylan nodded. ’You know Larry lied to me. He told me he was going to the dentist, and when he came back holding a hanky over his mouth, he said he’d had a tooth out. How gullible was I to believe that?’

‘If you can’t trust your own team Jack, who can you trust?’ she said. She stood, lifting his empty cup off his desk.

‘Well at least you’re sorted, Dawn. I’ll just have to square it with personnel, but there should be no problem. Does Ralph realise all the problems he’s caused?’ he said, teasing her.

Dawn’s smile was broad and her eyes danced happily.

‘I know you don’t want people to know, but best get it over with, eh?’ he said, screwing up his nose. ‘Can I tell Jen? She’ll be thrilled.’

‘Yeah sure,’ she said.

‘Would you two like kids one day?’

‘I’ll tell you a secret, Dawn. I’d love ‘em, but it’s not fair to any woman, especially Jen. I’m married to my job,’ he said.

‘Thanks Jack.’ she beamed at him as she left.

Dylan’s smile soon left his face. He needed a replacement for Larry and Dawn now, and as soon as possible. ‘Trying to get through to the personnel department often took longer than reaching call centres abroad he thought,’ as he drummed his fingers impatiently on his desk and listened to the persistent ringing.

It was better than the constant interruption of, ‘
your call is important to us, please hold the line…’
though he conceded.

Oh, he hated the music too. The best recorded message he’d come across on an answer machine had been for the Underwater Search Team the noise being the sound of bubbling water, and then the ‘glug’ of a voice saying all the officers were out of the office at the moment. After the sound of the bubbles someone said, ‘please leave your message’. The ‘hierarchy’ had made them remove it pretty damn sharpish.

‘About time,’ Dylan muttered, as someone eventually picked up the phone.

‘Lucy Kate, personnel.’ The voice sounded high pitched and agitated.

‘DI Dylan, Harrowfield,’ he said brightly, and quickly explained the predicament he was in and the urgency of the situation.

He couldn’t believe it: only one person on the list selected for Detective Sergeant. Dylan groaned loudly, resting his elbow on the desk and his head in his hand. Not only was it probably someone no one else wanted, as they were still on the list but he also needed two sergeants. It was no good, he’d have to get involved in promotion boards for CID. This wasn’t a good situation to be in for the Force.

Lucy agreed to Dawn’s move to Child Protection; she fitted the criteria for Force Regulations and therefore there was no need for Harriet’s post to be advertised. Dylan felt a flood of relief, the deal, however, was that he would take the uniformed sergeant on the list.

Dylan agreed, cringing as he did so.

‘Go on who is it?’ Dylan said, closing his eyes and holding his breath.

‘What did five hundred grand look like? How would she carry it? Would her weekend suitcase with the wheels be big enough? It would look less suspicious than a holdall.’ Liz was thinking, as her phone vibrated in her pocket.

‘I’m worried about you being on your own with all that money overnight. What if he turns up?’
Larry’s text read. ‘Oh, God she hadn’t thought of that.’
Do you want me to stay over? I could photograph and mark the money at the same time, which will prove it’s yours.’

Liz hesitated. Did she really want Larry staying? She’d arranged for Gemma to be collected from school by her gran and gramps and have a sleepover, so at least she knew she’d be okay. What had she got to lose; there was nothing stopping the blackmailer turning up at the house like Larry said, and if he did she would at least have some support at hand.

‘Okay, whatever you think best. I’ll leave a key in the gas meter cupboard, on the wall out the front. Let yourself in when I’ve left for the bank’.
She was secretly pleased she wasn’t going to be on her own.

Her trembling fingers fumbled with the big yellow plastic key, as she crouched on her haunches to see the keyhole of the gas cupboard.

‘Argh.’ Liz moaned as pain seared through her finger. She cursed under her breath as, in the shingle at her feet, she saw a perfectly painted acrylic nail that had pinged off. She picked it up and held it in her pained hand. Tears sprung in her eyes. She went down on her knees as she heard a crunch behind her on the gravel. Not daring to turn, she felt the hairs rise on the back of the neck. She listened. The key fell to the floor as the cupboard door silently flew back.

‘You okay Mrs Reynolds?’ said the postman, who towered over her as he held out a pile of junk mail. ‘I thought I heard you shout.’

Liz swallowed hard as she closed her eyes tight. A wave of nausea and a hot flush ran through her body. ‘I’m fine, just fine,’ said Liz, her heart in her mouth. ‘I’ve just broken a nail,’ she said, as she stood up and offered the postman her hand, which displayed her own nail, which was lifted slightly and bleeding under the nail bed. He took it in his.

‘It’s not going blue, I’m sure you’ll live,’ he said, kindly.

‘But, you’re as white as a ghost and shaking like a leaf. You sure you’re okay? Can I get you a drink of water?’ he said, holding her by the elbow and guiding her to the bench beside the front door.

‘No I’m fine, honestly.’ She smiled, reassuringly taking her mail from him.

‘Well, if you’re certain,’ he said as he retreated down the driveway backwards, unconvinced by her reply.

Twenty minutes later, nail stuck back on, door key in the cupboard and case on the doorstep, she locked the front door. Liz couldn’t count how many times she’d struggled with the very same case, bulging with clothes, when she was going on holiday, as she threw it, empty, into the boot of the car. But this was no holiday. She checked in her bag for her passport and ID for the bank, as she paused at her open car door. The blackmailer thought how very lovely she looked in her designer, beige, two-piece suit. She locked the doors immediately, although she was sure no one was watching her, and with butterflies in her stomach, she set off.

A warm blast of air emerged from the bank as she walked through the doors but as she strolled through the foyer, a welcome rush of air conditioning blew in her face, sweeping her hair up from her sweating neck. She headed for the sign saying customer services that hung above a desk, pulling the suitcase behind her. Liz was sure people could hear the blood pumping through her veins. She could feel it gushing through her heart and hammering in her chest. The noises in the bank echoed as if the room was a hollow capsule and although her trolley glided silently across the floor, the heels of her shoes clicked on the marble. She licked her perfectly pouted lips and brushed away the sweat beads that she could feel appearing on her eyebrows; glad for her Estee Lauder Double Wear stay-in-place make-up. Moments later she was in the manager’s office. It was a great relief when she was told that Mr Beckwith was away for the day on a course, but had left the paperwork ready for her to sign. She sat staring at the money as if in a trance, as it was counted and placed into her suitcase. The deputy manager was a young man, fussing over a lady who could afford to draw £500,000 from the bank in cash.

‘Security – wise, are you okay Mrs Reynolds?’ he asked.