The Burden of Doubt (12 page)

A small stain of colour crept up her neck. ‘I should have told you about Jasper when I was home at Christmas. I’ve been seeing him since last November.’

‘Seeing – as in …?’ He raised his eyebrows in query.

‘As in being an item.’ There was a pause. ‘And sleeping with him.’

Quizzing her on why she hadn’t told him before seemed inappropriate at this point. He decided to leave that for another time. ‘Is Jasper a user?’

‘Cannabis occasionally. But not since I’ve been with him. I told him I didn’t like it. And as for being a dealer. Absolutely not.’

‘I’ve heard from Cat Fallon that Jasper’s had one or two run ins with the police. That he’s not exactly Mr Popular.’

‘He’s pretty well endowed with the grey matter,’ she commented. ‘He’s got an Oxford First and he’s not one to hide his light under a bushel.’

‘Clever, cocky, arrogant?’ Swift suggested.

She smiled. ‘Probably all of those. I don’t think the average plod is quite on his wavelength.’

‘How’s he going to react to me?’

‘You’re not the average plod. And you’re my dad.’

‘Cat Fallon thinks maybe Jasper’s got on the wrong side of the head of the Drug Squad,’ he told her. He guessed Cat also thought Craven might be involved in collusion with known dealers. There was no need to burden Naomi with that.

‘That could well be the case. But Jasper hasn’t mentioned it to me.’

Swift straightened up. ‘OK. So you’re telling me you’re entirely innocent. You’re not using, you’re not dealing. And you didn’t know anything about the drugs found in Jasper’s car next to your purse?’

She nodded.

‘How come you didn’t see the stuff when you put your purse in the glove compartment?’

‘I just stuffed it in without really looking.’ She frowned. ‘I know that sounds feeble, but it’s true.’

Swift thought things through. ‘Fair enough. I believe you.’ He guessed Naomi’s attention had all been for Jasper the
quick-witted
charmer.

‘And where were you going, when you got stopped?’

‘To a party in Tudhoe village.’

‘Jasper’s friends?’

‘His sister, actually.’

‘Ah – meeting the family.’

‘Dad!’

He gave an absent smile. His mind was working on the way forward for the immediate future.

‘Interrogation over?’ Naomi asked.

‘Yep.’

‘So, what happens now?’ A thread of raw anxiety ran beneath the words.

‘I’ll have a word with Craven. Aim to get you out of here as soon as possible.’

‘That’d be nice,’ she said, aiming for her usual brittle, ironic tone, but turning away as her voice began to break up and tears were almost impossible to hold back.

He got to his feet and paused, looking down at her.

‘There’s a lot of time for reflection in here,’ she said.

‘Maybe that’s no bad thing.’

They sat in silence for a few moments. The custody sergeant came to the door and called time. Swift dropped a kiss on the top of her head. ‘I’ll be back.’ He walked through the door, hearing the
dull clang as the door closed, internally wincing as the sergeant turned the key in the lock.

Using the number Cat had jotted down for him Swift made a call to Craven. Fifteen minutes later he was standing outside a crumbling Georgian house, one of a terrace of four standing on a ridge at the end of a small cobbled road. The house was divided into three flats, Craven’s occupying the ground floor. A black 1980s BMW 3 series convertible stood on the cobbles opposite his door, immaculately waxed and gleaming like polished granite under the nearby streetlamp.

Craven appeared in the doorway as Swift got out of his car, a muscular man in his mid-forties. His hair was dark and close cropped, his face gaunt and tough-looking. He was dressed in black jeans, and a dark grey V-neck sweater. His mobile phone was clutched in his hand like a gun at the ready. ‘Ed Swift?’ he asked, cold and terse.

He led the way through a dark hallway painted in brown to an equally dark living-room with two long windows and a high ceiling. The room was almost empty: a sofa, a sleek hi-fi system in one corner, a revolving CD stack full of discs, and a
modestly-sized
plasma TV. Swift had the impression if he called out his voice would probably echo. Craven gestured him to sit down in a corner of the impressively large brown leather sofa. He himself sat in the other corner.

‘I’ve been trying to get some sleep,’ Craven said pointedly. ‘Had four late nights at work, one after the other. Knackered. You know the scenario.’

Swift nodded. ‘Thanks for making time to see me.’ He asked Craven how things were going in the Drug Squad.

For a few uneasy minutes they swapped tales of life in the police force in the twenty-first century. Craven was openly bitter. Work conditions, pay, image, public indifference. You name it, they had to deal with it. And as for the punters! ‘Every toe-rag dealer out there on the streets is carrying a neat little firearm in the pocket of their designer jeans,’ he grumbled, ‘or stashed under the seat of their spanking new Mercs. And all I’ve got is a finger to point at them if I catch them with some crack. I’ve had two
officers 
take a bullet in the leg in the past year, but if our lot so much as put a foot wrong our elders and betters at headquarters are down on us like a ton of bloody hot bricks.’

Swift put on a neutral expression and said nothing.

‘Your little lass,’ Craven said. ‘She’s got herself into a bit of a scrape, hasn’t she? Big mistake to get involved with Jasper Guest. And to get herself in the situation of looking as though she was carrying for him.’

Swift schooled himself to stay calm. ‘Were you hoping she’d give some information on Guest?’

Craven gave a dry laugh. ‘What else? But it doesn’t look as though it’s going to turn out like that. She’s a toughie, isn’t she? And not one to squeal.’

‘I’d say that was about right. What can you tell me about Jasper Guest?’

‘A smart arse. Of the first order. Fancy degree from Oxford. Nice cushy job as a lecturer in one of the poncey colleges here in Durham. Lecturer! More like a licence to pull any juicy eighteen year old he fancies. Lecher’s more to the point.’

Swift had to restrain himself for rounding on Craven and shaking him by the neck. ‘You’re not the Vice Squad,’ he said, forcing a smile. ‘Why the interest in Guest?’

‘Oh, his name started cropping up in the nightclubs. A bit of dealing here and there.’

‘Hard drugs?’ Swift asked sharply. ‘What have you found?’

Craven shrugged. ‘Nothing more than a bit of weed until this little haul. We’ve had him in a couple of times. He gets on my tits. Clever bastard who can’t get enough of the sound of his own voice. He thinks he’s God’s gift, can do whatever he fucking likes, fuck any brainy posh little tart he takes a fancy to.’

Swift felt the rage rising in him, a flooding red wave. He pushed it down.

‘Listen, Ed. Don’t get on your parental high horse and upset the applecart for us. We think we’re close to hooking a really big fish. And Guest makes good bait.’ He tilted his head. ‘Get my drift?’

Swift nodded agreement. ‘And what happens to Naomi?’ he asked softly.

‘She’s free to go. I’ll make a call right now. You can go get her as soon as you like.’

Swift let out a silent sigh, relief drowning out the anger. ‘Thanks for that, Len.’

Craven shrugged. ‘What about your wife? What does she think of all this? Not so good for a mother when the daughter slips off the rails.’

‘My wife was killed in a train crash. When Naomi was fifteen.’

The muscles around Craven’s mouth twitched. ‘Sorry,’ he said, before spoiling it by adding, ‘mine walked out on me.’

Swift stood up. ‘What about Jasper Guest?’

Craven grinned and shook his head in pity for a man who could show such concern for a jumped-up little turd like Jasper Guest. ‘We’ll keep him in one piece in case your lass wants him back when we release him.’

He led Swift back into the hallway and opened the door. ‘Did Cat Fallon give you my number?’ he asked.

Swift hesitated. ‘Yes, she did.’

‘Yeah.’ He drew the word out. ‘She’s a good officer, our Cat. And very tasty with it. Pity she’s leaving us. She’ll get the Bradford job. With the reference I’ve given her they ought to make her bloody chief constable.’ His eyes glittered with a malicious know-what-I-mean glance.

Swift couldn’t remember ever wanting to wipe the smile off a man’s face quite so much.

At the custody-sergeant’s desk Naomi was reunited with her watch, her purse, her phone, the belt of her jeans and the small pearl ear studs that had once belonged to Kate. She signed the itemized receipt the grim-faced sergeant handed her.

As she and Swift passed the front desk at the entrance, the young beefy constable leaned his impressively muscled elbows on the counter. ‘You just take care, pet,’ he said to Naomi, stern but kind.

‘You bet,’ she told him.

She and Swift walked out into the car-park. It was late now. The night was clear, the sky black and scattered with stars like spilled milk.

‘Hungry?’ Swift asked.

‘I could murder a steak and chips.’

‘Do you know somewhere good to get them at this time?’

‘Yep.’ She gave directions. ‘Dad?’

He waited, expecting something about Jasper Guest. ‘Cat Fallon’s been a real star in all this. Do you think she’d like to join us?’

‘Sure.’ He wondered if Naomi was shying away from a heart to heart with him over the steak. Or maybe she really liked Cat Fallon, wanted to say thanks. ‘Give her a call.’

Cat was free. She was up for a steak. She’d meet them in ten minutes. Swift wasn’t sure whether to be glad or sorry.

At the café bar Naomi had recommended he ordered a bottle of red and a litre of mineral water. Naomi poured herself a glass of water and drank it in one go. She was unusually quiet. He could almost track the thoughts in her head, the conflicts, doubts. And very probably, knowing her, a strong loyalty towards Jasper Guest.

Cat swung in through the doors, still in her black suit, but with the addition of long swinging silver ear-rings and improbably high-heeled strappy shoes totally unsuitable for the bitter cold of the evening.

Naomi got up and went forward to greet her. Swift was surprised to see his undemonstrative daughter give Cat a quick hug.

Cat’s presence somehow eased the thread of tension which had been running between Swift and Naomi. They ordered steak, fries and a salad. Cat helped Swift along with the bottle of red. They made light, general conversation about the weather and Naomi’s course and a couple of the new films showing at the multi-screen.

Cat shot brief glances at Swift and then Naomi, curious as to what had gone on since she spoke to Swift earlier. ‘So Craven wasn’t as gung ho as I’d feared,’ she said, breaking the ice and bringing the topic they were all privately preoccupied with out into the open.

‘He was fine,’ Swift said in non-committal tones.

‘He didn’t see you as villain after all,’ Cat said to Naomi.

‘No, thank God.’

Cat kept watching her.

‘And I wasn’t,’ Naomi said quietly. ‘I don’t know where that coke came from. And I don’t believe Jasper did either.’ Her voice was soft but there was a vein of steel in her words.

‘I’m satisfied to go along with that,’ Swift said, the policeman now rather than the father.

‘Well DCI Craven has his good and bad points,’ Cat said with a grin. ‘You can count yourself lucky when you’re on the receiving end of the former.’ She turned the grin directly on Naomi. A jest and a warning.

Watching his daughter, Swift knew that somewhere along the line, for whatever reason, a wrong turning had been made. He had the impression she was trying desperately to get herself back to that fork in the road.

‘Are you going back to Yorkshire tonight, Dad?’ Naomi asked.

‘No. I’ve booked in at The Crown.’ He didn’t mention that during the past few hours his nerves had sometimes seemed as thin as frayed cotton. He was OK now. But the last thing he needed was a long drive in the dark with the threat of another heavy snowfall.

‘Nice,’ said Cat. ‘They’ll give you a super breakfast.’

At the end of the evening Swift drove Naomi back to her college. Cat refused a lift and phoned for a taxi. She kissed both father and daughter with cheerful warmth as they parted.

‘She’s great,’ Naomi said, as they fastened their seat belts. Her glance swivelled towards her father, a glitter of conjecture there.

‘Do I hear an attempt to match-make?’ he asked.

‘You know me,’ she quipped. ‘Would I do that?’

Swift wondered how well he did know her. His little girl, who was now a woman and had been driving around with a suspected drug dealer, along with a considerable amount of cocaine.

Contrary to his expectations Swift slept like a rock. The call from reception woke him and he got up instantly, showered and shaved in the warm, gleaming bathroom, its bright mirror lights showing up the pallor and strain in his face from the events of the day before.

The dining-room was also bright and warm, smelling of toast and coffee and bacon. He ordered a full English and made himself eat it all. He thought of calling Doug or Laura and getting an update on the Farrell case. Instead he left a message with the front desk sergeant to say he’d be back mid to late-morning.

The sun was shining, low and golden, sending down slanting daggers of brilliance. He got into his car, squinting against the sun’s dazzle through the windscreen, and drove around to Jasper Guest’s flat, the address of which he had found listed in the phone book. He guessed Craven would have released Guest after letting him stew in the cells for the night. Whatever Craven had been up to as regards Guest, either using him as a pawn in some projected big swoop, or simply planting stuff on him in a fit of vengefulness, had backfired, and the devious DCI would have lost interest. For the moment, at least.

The house in which Guest had a basement flat was eerily similar to Craven’s: Georgian with tall windows and walls as thick as those guarding a castle moat. Swift went down the steep steps and rang the bell. When it wasn’t instantly answered he rang again, twice.