Life Sentence (14 page)

She heard what she was sure was disappointment in his voice. Her heart lifted in response. And sank again. How could she possibly embark on a love affair that might last only the couple of months it would take to work out her notice and move down to Teignmouth? ‘Depends on the Rebecca case, doesn’t it?’ She added, more positively despite herself, ‘Whenever you offer a lift, be sure I shall accept it.’

‘Good.’

‘Tell you what, why don’t we go and have a look at Ashford, just in case.’

It wasn’t in case of anything, as they both knew. But Fran always liked to check and recheck a possible scene of crime. Mark, silent, seemed content to walk almost in her wake as they explored the parts of the main street and its offshoots where the market was held.
Every lamp-post carried a poster with Rebecca’s face on it.

‘There’ll be a reconstruction on Friday,’ she told him. ‘I’ve asked the heads of all the local schools to release their pupils for the relevant period, in case any of them were round here. And we’ve got one of Rebecca’s cousins to retrace what we know of her steps.’

‘You’ve done well,’ he said, but absently.

She chose to address his words, not the distance. ‘Not well enough! I feel a total failure, Mark: Elise, Rebecca, my parents – can’t sort any of them.’

‘You will.’ He slowed to a halt and looked around. ‘Funny little town, isn’t it? Unlovely.’

‘But quite old. I remember reading up on it when I thought I might live here—’

‘With Ian? Would you have sold your lovely cottage and moved
here
?’

‘It was all so long ago I can’t remember if we’d got round to discussing where we’d live.’ If only she could have framed the words he deserved to hear – that just as he would have died for Tina, but now needed to live for himself, so she too had moved on from Ian. As it was, she sounded brusque, dismissive, even to her own ears. What had happened to her? Only a week ago she’d bought new undies from the very shop they were standing outside so she wouldn’t be embarrassed when they slept together. Nothing like the wonderful fuchsia set currently dominating the window, more was the pity.

Could a senior officer, burdened by two major
enquiries, really take two more minutes out to slip in and buy them? Why ever not?

But first her mobile and then his chimed in. And, answering the calls, they turned as one and returned to the car. At last, when they were sitting soberly side-
by-side
, eyes on the road, she managed something. ‘This business of my parents – and Hazel – is really knocking me about. Things I want to do, things I want to say: nothing comes out right. I’m sorry.’

Safely strapped in, he did what she’d hoped he’d do. He released the wheel and squeezed her hand. This time she managed to return the squeeze. Yes. Perhaps it would be all right.

The Chief looked embarrassed as he sat down the far side of his desk, but said nothing as he gestured Fran into a chair. She folded her hands in her lap, waiting. She had a fair idea of what was coming: the terse note on her desk telling her to go straight to his office had been a good indication. Henson had no doubt thrown his toys out of his pram and demanded her removal from the case.

After the initial surge of fury, she realised she’d be very grateful if he had. She owed it to the child to drive through every possible aspect of the investigation in as short as possible a time in the hope she might still be alive: if that meant graciously handing over the case to a younger, more energetic officer, so be it. Equally she wanted to obtain justice for Elise, and now time was getting short for that.

‘Tell me about the Rebecca case,’ the Chief said suddenly.

Why? Surely Henson had updated him? Or, more likely, Mark? ‘We’ve obtained every inch of CCTV footage we can. We’ve virtually torn apart the family
computer. She doesn’t possess a mobile phone—’

‘No mobile!’

‘A pleasantly old-fashioned family: she has to use the family TV and computer, and she’s learning classical piano. As decent and normal a kid as you’d wish to find, according to her teachers, likely to romp through her 11plus. Wants to be a doctor and work for
Medecins sans Frontieres
. Friends’ computers and mobiles – zilch so far. No threats, no stalkers, no nothing. It’s as if someone lifted a manhole and pulled her down. My God. I never checked for roadworks!’ Borrowing a ballpoint from his desk-tidy, she wrote on the palm of her hand.

He laughed dryly. ‘I was under the impression that you were supposed to be running the investigation, not doing everything yourself.’

‘It took me many years to learn to delegate, then a few more to remember to. It’s taken me two days to forget. I think it was working solo on the Elise case – solo but for DC Arkwright. He’s a very bright officer.’

‘What sort of progress are you making there?’ Ignoring her plug for the young man, he leaned back, shielding his eyes from the westering sun.

What had happened to his interest in the missing schoolgirl? Maybe he’d come back to it. She reached to adjust the blinds. ‘Very slow. But we’ve had some significant breaks recently. I’m fairly sure the victim’s not actually called Elise, but that her car was. Several other brand new Lotuses were stolen soon after they
were bought, but not from the same dealer. We were just tracing the actual salesman when this case blew up and it was all hands on deck.’

‘Do you want to stick with this or get back to Elise?’

There was a choice? ‘The situation in Devon hasn’t improved, sir.’

‘My son was telling me that one regime – the Romans? – used to tie people they didn’t like to two horses, which were driven in opposite directions. Very painful. And of course, lethal. The result would be two dead half bodies, quite useless.

Fran responded, ‘That sums up the situation of a lot of women like me, I should imagine. It could be even worse: I could have children to worry about.’ Or a lover.

‘I believe there’s a government initiative to allow carers such as yourself time off work: let’s hope it works better than some of their other initiatives. In the meantime, what would you prefer to do?’

‘Judgement of Solomon time: it’s a decision only you and Mark can make, sir. With considerable input from Chief Superintendent Henson. I am, in all honesty, doing a high-profile part of his job, a situation he must find very difficult. I would. For all one says he’s new in post and has got to get up to speed with all departmental issues, in his position I’d want to be involved in a case with, one hopes, a very good outcome.’

‘Would you be his second in command? Bring him up to speed on both the theoretical and the immediate case?’

‘No.’ The monosyllable was intended to be flat. ‘And I wouldn’t want him to be second to me, either. The team will work well without my input, sir. As you just pointed out, I’m an administrator, these days, not a flatfoot. I’m best at sorting out resources and acting as facilitator. I’m sure Chief Superintendent Henson can do both at least as well as I. And if I return to Elise, there’ll be no divided loyalties amongst the team. No playground taking sides, which, much as it’s to be deplored, is inevitable.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Funnily enough, I’ve already intercepted a little delegation heading for Mark. I thought it would put him in an invidious position if he had to deal with it. It seems the teams want you to stay.’

‘I hope you gave them short shrift.’ Since when had the police been a democratic organisation, she added under her breath.

He nodded, as if agreeing to her unspoken sentiment too. ‘I’d heard you were a good officer, Fran: and you are. I just wish there was something we could do to keep you here – a half-time consultancy, perhaps.’

Her heart leapt. But she shook her head. ‘My parents’ health isn’t going to improve, sir. I shall get less reliable, not more. All that commuting when under pressure—’ She gave an expressive shrug.

‘Why not bring them to a retirement home up here?’ he asked.

‘There is one: they’d have to agree. And people their
age like things very much their way.’

‘Would you be paying for their accommodation? In that case, Fran, you’re entitled to call the tune.’

All this nice, clear-cut advice! She shook her head. ‘I suspect that doesn’t apply to one’s parents. Now, sir, I ought to be going back to check on those roadworks. And then I’ll return to the Elise case, taking Tom Arkwright with me, if that’s all right by you.’

He laughed. ‘I think it’s for the best. Obviously, Henson’ll have first call if things really get tricky. You’re looking very much better,’ he added, as she got to her feet, ‘if I may say so.’

Perhaps she was. There was her new hairstyle for one thing, which suited her far better than any she’d had recently. As for her debilitating flushes, either she’d been too busy to notice them or they’d started to subside. That was one good thing to come out of the Elise case, at least. Even if the Chief had wrongfooted her over Tom. At the door, she paused. ‘May I ask you something, sir? In absolute confidence?’

‘Go ahead.’

‘Tell me – why did you think it would be invidious for Mark to deal with that deputation?’

‘Good God, Fran – how could the man possibly deal with it? When you and he are…’ He gave an expressive gesture. ‘I thought it was common knowledge.’

‘Sir.’ She turned smartly and left the room.

‘My office. Now,’ Fran muttered as she passed Tom’s desk. Deputation indeed. And what might his part be in it? She sat ostentatiously the far side of the desk and folded her arms. ‘Well, young man?’ She could sound a termagant when she wanted to.

Snapping to sudden and rigid attention, he fixed a spot on the wall an inch above her head. ‘Ma’am?’

At least she could award him points for picking up nuances, admittedly not so subtle in the present instance.

‘This deputation to the Chief: what do you know about it?’

‘It wasn’t to the Chief, ma’am: it was to the ACC – Mr Turner.’

‘And what part did you have in its organisation?’

‘None at all, ma’am. On the contrary, if anyone had asked me—’ He stopped abruptly.

‘If anyone had asked you – what would you have said?’ She kept her face stern, least she betray herself by laughing.

‘Sooner we could get back on the Elise case the better. I don’t mind being a small fish, ma’am, because I shall make sure I get bigger, but it’s better being a small fish in your pond than in Henson’s. If you see what I mean.’

‘I take it you haven’t yet said that to Chief Superintendent Henson.’

‘Not on your life, ma’am. It’d be letting you down, like, wouldn’t it?’

Would it? She couldn’t see how.

‘Being insubordinate, when you’ve always stressed the need for appropriate use of management structures, ma’am,’ he continued. ‘But please don’t ask me to tell you who it was, ma’am, because that would be inappropriate betrayal of a confidence.’

‘It would indeed,’ she said. ‘Plus it was a damned silly trick, and I wouldn’t wish to know which of my colleagues had been stupid enough to get involved. OK, Tom. Take the weight off your feet and update me.’ As she unfolded her arms she noticed her message to herself. ‘No! Not yet!’ She held up the hand like a traffic policeman’s. ‘Before we do anything else, go and check the CCTV footage of the Rebecca case and see if you can see any of those striped – or otherwise – tents they sometime erect over holes in the road. I think BT use them for a start.’

His face fell. ‘I thought we were back on the Elise case. Now that you’re back in your own room, like.’

‘We will be soon. But truly the hunt for Rebecca is urgent enough to transcend office politics – go and do as I say. I’ll phone Dr Alan bloody Pitt and leave a message he won’t like.’

Was that the best policy? Although she’d have liked to blaze at him with a broadside, she wondered if a more emollient approach might produce better results. So, when, as expected, she was asked to leave a message, she was almost silky – but not enough to arouse his suspicions, she hoped. ‘Dr Pitt. This is Fran Harman
here. I’m sorry I’ve been unavailable – the current case has been placing demands on us which sometimes make us appear discourteous to people wishing to reach us. But I now have some news for you and would be grateful if you would call me as soon as you receive this. Just in case you don’t have it handy, this is my number.’ There. She’d been half-tempted to give him her mobile number, but had decided against. He was the sort of person who could have stalking proclivities. Was another visit to his bungalow in order? A surprise one this time? Or was he simply winding her up and wasting her time?

She compromised. As soon as Tom had checked on road works in Ashford High Street, she’d get him to check on Pitts’ calls and the intercept request. Meanwhile, it wouldn’t do any harm to sit and remind herself where they’d got so far and plot their next moves.

When Tom hadn’t returned almost an hour later, she decided it was time to go in search of him. He’d probably got deeply involved in his searches for the workman’s tent and lost track of time. In any case, though she was no longer directly involved in the search for the child, she couldn’t pretend she wasn’t, like everyone else, deeply concerned. But her mobile rang. Elaine!

‘Are you OK, Fran?’

‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

‘Because I said I was coming to stay tonight, and you said I’d be welcome tomorrow.’

‘Ah. That’s what happens when you do your emails with your eyes closed. You’re just as welcome tonight. In fact, things have changed here so I may be back at a civilised hour. You still like Chinese? Great – our usual menu for two? Excellent. See you about eight.’ So she’d better make sure she left work by seven-thirty. At least she could phone ahead for the meal…

There was no sign of Tom in the Incident Room, so he wasn’t whiling his time away with a good gossip. Hating herself for looking like a nagging mother, she wandered apparently casually down to the room where all the video equipment was kept, to find it empty, all the equipment switched off.

She wouldn’t demean herself by standing outside the gents’ loo hollering, nor by hunting him in the canteen. She didn’t need to. Staggering under a tea tray the size of a coffin lid, he emerged from the lift, followed by one of the computer inputters, a girl of no more than eighteen, carrying a smaller tray on which she could see plates of biscuits. Top marks to someone for thinking of the workers, bottom marks for turning Tom into the minion. Following at a discreet distance, she heard a male voice bellowing from the far side of the room. Though she didn’t pick up every word, the gist was enough. Tom had taken far too long to do the bidding of the owner of the voice.

A quiet word was evidently called for. Apart from the fact that she believed that Tom was her deputy, no longer a member of the larger enquiry team, it was a wicked waste of resources to send a constable as bright as he on such a menial errand. If she could identify the owner of the voice, she would tell him so, though not in front of his peers. Ritual humiliation had never been part of her arsenal.

A stringy man she didn’t recognise seemed to be the source of the problem. His presence in a room where she thought she had at very least a nodding acquaintance with everyone was disconcerting enough. That he should be senior enough to be giving orders was more of a problem. There was no sign of Henson, but no reason for there to be. As she and the Chief had agreed, officers at their level should be thinking about policy and direction, not dealing with everyday minutiae.

Her instinct was to jump down the stranger’s throat, and emerge, kicking, at the far end. But just as she’d tempered her response to Pitt, so she felt it advisable to employ her diplomatic skills. Waiting by the door till Tom had finished his waiter’s duties, she caught his eye and beckoned him over, drawing him outside before she spoke.

‘Who’s that weaselly little guy who thinks you’re silver service?’

‘Someone from the Murder Investigation Team.’

‘MIT! You mean they’ve found—?’ If Rebecca’s body
had been located, and she hadn’t been told, then diplomatic was the last thing she’d be.

‘The Chief Superintendent thought it would be better if we work in tandem, ma’am. You can see how optimistic
he
is,’ he added miserably.

It made sense, though it wasn’t good for the CID team’s morale, driven as they were into efforts like hers by the hope that they might find the child alive.

She nodded noncommittally. ‘What’s his name? And rank?’

‘He’s another new kid on the block. Friend of the new super’s from the Met. DCI Patton.’

‘Any relation to the general?’ But Tom looked completely blank, so she continued, ‘Did you have any joy with the CCTV footage?’

He shook his head, indignant. ‘They said they’d checked and double-checked and that I might as well make myself useful. That’s how I ended up as tea-boy.’

‘Did you give any hint that I might not be best pleased to lose one of my best officers to such a lowly task? An excellent detective who happens to be my only detective?’