Mummy's Favourite (2 page)

She glanced up at the glass trying to identify her office on the fourth floor, before checking her watch. Her team would all be in by now.

Vaulting the cycle railing outside HQ, she stared at her reflection in the glass of the revolving doors, realizing yet again that she'd forgotten to calm the tuft of unruly hair that always presented itself, like the horn of a rhino, at the front of her head. Even short hair managed to defeat her in the mornings. She checked herself critically. Plain, but with potential; or so her mother said. Medium height and athletic, but with a few excess pounds to shed. Skin: clear but rather pasty-looking; time to get out into the countryside for some exercise and adrenalin. As for her clothes; crumpled, with dirty knees and elbows from her tussle with the fare-dodger. All in all, she had to admit that today she did look scruffy, even by her own standards.

Her spirits dipped slightly. Damn, she'd get another dressing-down from her boss, Hunter. Running her hands over her head in a futile attempt to calm the stubborn quiff, she doubted whether, even if she were the commander of Lambeth Borough, he would turn a blind eye to her appearance today.

*

‘Ah DC Stafford, you're late again and you look like shit. Glad you could make it though, fresh from your Super Recognizer's course. Where have you been? We've all been waiting for you. Or did you fail to recognize it was 8.30 and not 8 a.m.?'

DI Geoffrey Hunter didn't wait for an answer. ‘Right, now we're all here,
at last
. I'll get on.' He accentuated his words and Charlie felt herself redden at his sarcasm. A bollocking on a Monday morning in front of her colleagues was never the best start to a week.

‘Sorry guv,' she tried.

He ignored her. ‘We've had a few new reports referred to us over the weekend which I need to assign. One of which has potential.'

Charlie pricked her ears up. There were rarely cases with potential in her department, unless Hunter meant potential for trouble. She worked in the Community Support Unit, a branch of the CID or Criminal Investigation Department, having only acknowledged her ambition to investigate major crime in the last year.

Up until then she had put off becoming a detective, preferring to be out on the streets dealing with crime as it happened, and as it often happened right in front of her she had excelled.

Her first big collar after leaving Hendon to join Charing Cross police station had been a rapist she'd recognized from an e-fit. On little more than a hunch and a similarity to the suspect, she'd found him in possession of duct tape, a knife and keys to a Vauxhall. Having scanned the streets, she'd located his car, and discovered photos and details of a female in a nearby street. Her suspicions aroused, she'd headed straight to the woman's address and kicked the door down only to find her gagged and taped up in her bed, the last victim of a series of horrific attacks perpetrated by the same suspect. The mental anguish of the victim in the case affected Charlie greatly. It was personal. She went out of her way to stay with the woman through every step of the investigation, determined to obtain justice for her. She knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of injustice. It was exactly for this reason she'd joined the police.

She stayed at Charing Cross initially loving the adrenalin of the streets before transferring to Lambeth borough, where she continued to revel in her work. She was rewarded with an advanced pursuit driving course and the newly developed Super Recognizer's course and was head-hunted by some of the specialized CID squads in the Met investigating serious crime and criminals.

After being shot at in a backstreet of Brixton, she'd decided that CID was the place to really make a difference so returned to Hendon Training College; only to find it a shell of its previous self, with many of the buildings and tower blocks empty and derelict.

She'd emerged as a detective constable and found herself immediately posted to the CSU, first stop for all budding CID officers. Nearly six months later she was still there.

The unit had the remit to deal with any allegations involving domestic violence, race, faith, sexual orientation or disability, but as she was just discovering, it was the most risky and politically explosive unit in CID. If you got it wrong here, your career would be ended before it had begun.

‘Anything interesting?' Charlie asked.

She hoped it would give her the chance to get out and about and, if she did get out, that Hunter would come with her. He might be her boss but he too liked to be out on the streets and had the reputation for attracting action.

‘Like I said,' he looked to be studiously avoiding making eye contact with her. He was obviously keen to make her sweat. ‘It has potential. A woman and her son, missing since Friday, reported by her husband today. Nothing too sinister at the moment, although the husband sounds like a nasty bastard. It's being dealt with by the missing persons unit, but they've asked us to take a look, as the couple have a history of domestic violence. The chances are the wife's probably just come to her senses and moved out, but it's raised concerns because they have another son who has been left behind.'

He paused and this time looked directly at her.

‘Charlie, I want you to look into what we know about them. How many previous DV reports? When was the first report and the last, and if any include an assault or threat to assault. If there are actual assaults, see if they have escalated in severity. It's strange for a mother to take one son but leave the other, particularly if there is a violent history.'

He ran his gaze up and down her critically, his face puckering up in displeasure.

‘Once you've done your research, smarten yourself up and we'll go and pay the husband a visit.'

She nodded, her face glowing red.

‘There's an iron in my office. When, and only when I think you're smart enough, we'll head out to his address and speak to him personally. I'm more than happy to get some fresh air and see what he's got to say in person, but only if you look like a professional police officer and not something dragged up from a gutter.'

He gave her the same look as he would give a wilful teenager, but she didn't miss the glint of good humour and the slight shake of his head as he turned heel.

Immediately the door closed behind him, and probably before he was out of earshot, Paul let out a loud snigger.

‘Charlotte Stafford. What do you look like?'

‘Oy, don't call me Charlotte, only my mother is allowed to call me that. And then only if she is having words with me.'

‘I bet you get called Charlotte all the time then!'

The quip caught her off guard just for a second. She remembered the first time anyone had called her Charlie, many years ago on a sandy beach in West Wittering. The name had stuck with her from then on. She swallowed hard and pinned a smile back on her face.

‘Maybe,' she said and her colleagues burst into laughter.

She worked with five others: Bet, Paul, Colin, Sabira and Naz, though today Sabira and Naz were on the late shift.

Paul threw an arm around her protectively. ‘Well, we all love you,' he paused and squeezed her round the shoulder, ‘whatever the nasty man says.'

Charlie laughed. Paul was only joking but she didn't like to hear Hunter called that. The ‘nasty man' was actually the man she most respected in her life. She'd never known her real father, and her step-father certainly didn't deserve any respect. Aside from some of the male colleagues she now worked with, there had been few other male influences that had garnered her respect. Out of all her bosses, Hunter was definitely the one she admired the most.

He was Hunter by name and certainly a hunter by nature, though his look was more prey than predator. At thirty years old, he'd had the appearance of an old man, short, chubby, bald and ruddy faced. Now, as a fifty-six-year-old Detective Inspector, his body was at last representative of his age.

Charlie loved the man, not in a romantic way; he was old enough to be her father. But he was everything she aspired to be: a fearless leader, a principled, hard-working officer and a thief-taker second to none; but with the added benefit of being highly organized and always punctual. She knew beneath the stern veneer that he loved her, in his own way, too, although he would never in a million years admit it and treated her more like an errant schoolchild.

Judging by his reaction today, however, she was lucky he had still assigned her to do the enquiries.

Anyway Paul was only teasing. He could be a mischievous bugger sometimes and she knew that he had long ago worked out that she had a soft spot for Hunter. He only had to mention their boss's name to get her blushing.

She put her arm around Paul's waist and squeezed him back. She instinctively recognized a friend, foe or neutral, almost within minutes of a first meeting, and he was definitely a friend. He also had the knack of seeing through her outwardly hard-working, happy, confident exterior to the insecure, vulnerable soul underneath. Not many people could do that; she put on a good act.

He was looking rather bleary-eyed this morning. She'd noticed him while Hunter was speaking, sipping carefully from a steaming mug of black coffee. Paul specialized in the sexual orientation and transgender investigations. He was normally immaculately turned out, his blonde, slightly thinning hair gelled carefully and his beard neatly trimmed. Large diamond earrings glinted in both ears and his tongue sported a gold stud which he clicked against the back of his teeth when he was concentrating. Finishing off his smart, man-about-town image were jeans, stylish shoes and a neatly pressed shirt buttoned up to the collar. Today, though, his usual clipped appearance was more dishevelled than dapper.

Keen to change the subject away from herself she patted him on the back.

‘Bit of a heavy weekend eh, Paul?'

He wiped his brow, pulling an expression of mock indignation.

‘You can't imagine what happened to me on Saturday night, Charlie. I met the man of my dreams, complete with the most
amazing
nipple rings. Get yourself sorted and I'll fill you in, so to speak.'

Charlie nodded. She took off her jacket, tried and failed to brush the creases out of her shirt and trousers, and ran her fingers through her hair for a third time.

‘Right, that's me sorted.'

Bet looked up from her computer terminal and shook her head.

‘What are you like, Charlie? Pop into the toilet and wet your hair down then slip my coat on and give me your stuff. I'll run the iron over them. Don't let the boss see you like that again or next time he really will do his pieces. Or worse than that, you'll be grounded.'

She did what she was told straight away. There was no way she wanted to be left in the office, if there was a chance of getting out she wasn't going to argue with Bet either.

Bet was a friend too, almost twice her age and more like a surrogate mother than a colleague. She was the oldest member of the office, early fifties, apple-shaped, thick, greying hair, smoked like a trooper and married four times. There was nothing Bet didn't know about the world of domestic violence, both from work and personal experience. Coppers could be just as volatile as the next man or woman and she'd picked a few bad apples in her time.

Charlie logged on to her computer while Bet busied herself.

She flitted between listening to Paul's exploits and dispensing with easy e-mail queries for the first few minutes, before slipping her freshly pressed clothes back on, shielded behind the coat and the computer screen.

The Monday morning revelations were dying down now. She tapped in the name Hunter had left on her desk and watched the screen start to fill, suddenly desperate to get on with her allotted task. If Hunter saw potential, then it must have potential. And she would be the one to prove he was right.

Julie Hubbard, forty-two years old, married only the once to Keith, was missing with their son Richard, aged fourteen. Their other son, Ryan, aged fifteen, was still with Keith. Both Julie and Richard were fit and healthy, neither had ever gone missing before and there was no suggestion that either might be mentally unstable, suicidal or had a history of self-harm.

Charlie scanned through the missing person's report. There was a history of domestic violence; she'd check that out shortly. Julie had no recorded convictions, however Keith Hubbard was known for assault, possession of weapons, affray and public order offences. He was certainly a volatile and violent man. Julie may well have just left him. In fact, reading the report, the domestic situation certainly seemed as if it could be the reason for the two disappearances.

Other theories were mooted. Maybe Julie had taken Richard out of school early for some kind of mother/son bonding holiday. It was, after all, only two days before the Easter school holidays. Richard's school was being contacted to confirm whether or not Julie had requested the absence.

Charlie suddenly thought back to her childhood. Her own mother, Meg, had made a point of having individual “special days” with her and her two half-sisters, Lucy and Beth, since that Wednesday many years ago when the family's cosy existence had imploded. She had loved those days, alone with her mother, doing her choice of activity. Somehow those random days out with just Meg took away some of her loneliness; but they could never stop her hating Wednesdays.

The more Charlie thought about the theory of mother/son bonding though, the more she discounted it. It was inconceivable to her that Keith or Ryan, in particular, would not know they had gone away. She remembered the lengths Meg had gone to, to make sure she, Lucy and Beth were all aware of each and every special day. Her mum was always scrupulously fair and had to be seen to be fair. She had no favourites. Both her husbands had let her down but she loved her three daughters equally, irrespective of their fathers' failings. No, there was absolutely no way that her mother would have taken one of them away for a weekend, or even a single day, without first clearing it with the others. It would be unthinkable.