Power on Her Own Page 11

  Except he grabbed her round the waist. ‘Come on,’ he said, and started to kiss her on the mouth.

  She laid her hands on his, as if clamping them to her waist. And then pulled back his little fingers, stopping only when he yelled.

  She stepped back, ostentatiously sitting at the kitchen table and removing the letter from the envelope he’d started to open.

  ‘Come on, Kate.’ He sat opposite her. ‘What’s up? Lost your sense of humour?’

  ‘No. Nor, before you ask is it the wrong time of the month. I just don’t want to play games at the moment, Paul. I told you, you should have let me know you were here. And you certainly shouldn’t have opened this.’

  ‘I always let myself in.’ He shook a bunch of keys at her. ‘And I’m sorry about the letter. I just did it automatically.’ He sat down opposite her. ‘Hell, you didn’t half tweak my fingers.’

  She grinned. Perhaps she had over-reacted. ‘It was either that or hurt you! Now, I’d love to watch a video with you, but I shall have to iron my shirts while I watch.’

  The rest of the evening had started pleasantly enough. She’d brought the tumble-dried washing in from the utility room to find him washing up and putting on the kettle, and then he carried through the ironing board into the living room. When she found the video was Shadowlands she decided to acquit him of any salacious intent. No doubt he behaved like an over-age teenager because he spent so much time with teenagers. And of course, this was his sister’s home, and he was no doubt used to coming and going as he pleased. And yes, she’d been rattled anyway. No reason, when she’d hung the last shirt on its hanger and put away the iron, why she shouldn’t join him on the sofa, if not closely. They were both crying so hard at the end of the movie that any remaining lust must be completely extinguished. And then she found she couldn’t stop crying, and didn’t think she ever would again. Oh, Robin.

  Kate came back into the kitchen to catch Maz in mid-torrent: ‘Damn it, Paul – she lost her lover only three months ago, and you make her watch that? I know it’s wonderful, but haven’t you any imagination? Come, love: have a brandy. One won’t hurt you.’

  ‘Very small. How was the concert?’

  ‘Brilliant. Absolutely wonderful. And the hall’s perfect. You must go.’

  ‘I’ll get some tickets – make up for tonight,’ Paul said. ‘I really am so sorry, Kate. I just didn’t think.’

  At last, still shaking, she went to bed. Giles had produced homeopathic sleeping pills and a hot-water bottle. It wasn’t until she took off her trousers she remembered the letter in the pocket. She smoothed it out.

  Dear Kate

  Just a note to explain about this course. It was dropped on me at absolutely the last minute. I’m concerned about what may happen to you at work while I’m away and my office door locked. If necessary post stuff to me at the above address. If anything crops up phone me, for goodness’ sake. I know mobile phones are inventions of the devil, but there we are.

  Kindest regards

  Yours

  Graham Harvey

  Midnight. Well, he wouldn’t welcome a call now. But tomorrow! And before she knew it, Kate had fallen asleep.

  Chapter Thirteen

  No need for an alarm this morning! Kate was awake, surging with enough energy for a long run, just after six. Time for a shower before the family took over the bathroom.

  But she had done no more than set the breakfast table when Maz appeared, bleary and, without make-up, looking old. For all her smart day clothes, her dressing gown was embarrassingly bald.

  ‘Better this morning? Funny how a good cry can clear you out, set you up again. Is that kettle for anything special?’

  ‘Tea for you and Giles. Unless you’d prefer coffee? I was going to bring it up to you. I still could. Go on: when did you last have tea in bed?’ And when did I? Our last morning, that’s when. But don’t think of that now. There will be good times. One day. One day. ‘Off you go. I’ll start the breakfast. But I’ll nip off early. I want to make a couple of phone calls before things get too hectic.’

  ‘Make them from here?’ Maz gathered her dressing gown skirt, as if to start upstairs. But she dropped it again, and started to reach out for breakfast cereals.

  ‘Tea. There you are. And now push off. It’s Saturday, isn’t it? Day of rest. Now, I’ve promised to come and play with the train set again, but I’m not sure when. I think I might be on to something at work, so goodness knows what time I shall be finished. And I have this yen to sleep in my own bed.’

  ‘Have you got a new mattress for it or are you sticking with your aunt’s?’

  Kate gasped. ‘I’d completely forgotten … Still, I’m sure I can get someone to deliver a mattress this weekend.’

  ‘See you sometime this evening,’ Maz said dryly. She picked up the tray. ‘Everything OK last night, by the way?’

  Kate omitted Tim’s excursions, but touched on Jenny’s nightmare and Lynn’s quietness.

  ‘Starting her teens early, my poor Lynn. Hogs the computer to record Her Thoughts and Feelings. And Jenny does get these dreadful nights. The doctor suggested sleeping tablets of all things.’

  ‘Have you thought about hypnosis?’

  ‘Oh, I’m not sure … Maybe she’ll grow out of them.’

  What time could she decently phone Graham? They probably got them up early on these courses, so she might try soon after seven. Or what if he was at home? He’d not indicated how long the course was to last. You couldn’t drag an innocent man from his slumber at this hour, not at the weekend. But he might want her to. She’d have to try, but not from the bus. Perhaps she should take her clean clothes home and try from there. What about the workmen? There’d be a room. And it might be worth taking her car in, she was so early.

  She was half way up her road when she remembered she hadn’t phoned PC Kaur. How could she have forgotten something as important as that? She’d have to jot it down.

  ‘You all right, Kate?’ Her neighbour was putting out milk bottles so thoroughly washed Kate could see bubbles of detergent in the bottoms of them.

  ‘Hi, Mrs Mackenzie! Miles away, wasn’t I? Yes, I’m fine. And the house is coming on nicely. Oh, my God: I’ve still got your casserole, haven’t I? Can I give it you now? I’m so sorry. Come on in.’ Why couldn’t she stop the words pouring out? It wasn’t just guilt over the casserole – it was her fears about Royston. What would that sort of accusation do to the family?

  ‘Don’t you worry, love. When the Lord made time, he made plenty of it.’

  By some miracle, the casserole was still in the bathroom, where she’d taken it to wash it, and no one had yet got round to using it as an ash tray. She ran downstairs with it.

  ‘You’re right: this place is coming on a treat. My Lord, what’s all this in here?’

  ‘Kitchen units. Flat packs. I’ve got a bloke coming to fix them, but he can’t do anything until the work surface comes. So I’m staying at the Manse.’

  Mrs Mackenzie raised an eyebrow. ‘Which chapel you going to?’

  ‘That funny big one down by the park.’

  ‘We used to go there. Royston was in the BB. Now we prefer C of E. Kind, good people,’ she added with a certain emphasis.

  Perhaps she and her family had had to endure the pettiness of some of those old women.

  ‘Did you find –’ Kate began.

  ‘We all go. A family that prays together stays together.’

  There was no reply to that. She had to find one, of sorts. ‘Royston too?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘I’ve started to coach the BB football team. Trying to get them off the bottom of the league.’

  ‘We all have our crosses to bear,’ Mrs Mackenzie observed. And, taking the casserole, she left.

  Alf arrived. His pick-up, across the road, was laden with wood. ‘I got this job lot, Kate, me love. So I’ve taken the liberty – I mean, here’s the quote I prepared.’ He dug in his trousers. ‘And I’ll put this lot in fo
r you at fifty quid below that.’

  ‘It’s not back of a lorry stuff, is it, Alf?’ The question was out before she could stop it.

  ‘Would I do that? Someone ordered extra, tried to get the wholesalers to take it back, and when they wouldn’t, I stuck my oar in, and here we are.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Comes with the job. You know, the police.’

  He stared, round eyed. ‘You a lady policeman?’

  ‘CID. That’s why you don’t see me in a uniform.’

  ‘Well, you don’t look like one, that’s all I’ll say.’

  So what did he expect? Size ten feet? Involuntarily, she dropped her eyes to her neat four-and-a-halves.

  ‘I’ll leave this lot in the entry, shall I? And get on with your wiring and that in the kitchen. Have everything where you want it today, I should think.’

  She sat on the floor, her back supported by Aunt Cassie’s magnificent wardrobe. My God: when had she last visited Cassie? She’d have to try and fit it in this evening, if things were slack at work. But perhaps it was up to Graham to say how busy she’d be.

  She dialled. A long wait. And then a woman’s voice. ‘Yes?’

  It was not encouraging.

  ‘May I speak to DCI Harvey, please?’

  ‘You people think you own him. For your information he’s out cleaning the car.’

  At eight in the morning?

  ‘Could you ask him to phone me back? It’s quite urgent.’

  ‘Certainly not. You hang on. Then it’ll be your phone bill, not ours.’

  No wonder Sally wanted Graham to have a fling! The footsteps took for ever to recede, and then she heard more urgent ones coming back. Why hadn’t the woman taken the phone to him? It was his mobile, for goodness’ sake!

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Graham, it’s Kate!’ She couldn’t disguise the pleasure and relief in her voice. It was so good to make contact with a solid island of sanity in what seemed a very heavy sea.

  ‘Give me your number,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ll call you back. Ordinary phone, for preference.’

  There was only one telephone, and that was in the living room. Maybe it would reach halfway up the stairs, away from the worst of Alf’s noise – he had a penchant for Radio Two.

  She ran, gathered it, stretching the cable carefully, and perched it on her knee. Panting slightly, she snatched up the receiver first ring.

  ‘Problems?’ he asked. No preliminaries.

  ‘Maybe solutions.’ She too could be terse. ‘Duck, for a start. You remember Darren and his duck? There’s a railway engine in a children’s book called Duck. And you can get models.’

  ‘Abnormal damage – Jesus Christ, are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ His voice shook with anger.

  ‘I think I probably am. And what I really want to know is if a little boy who was smashed by a juggernaut the other night has similar damage.’

  ‘Boy? Don’t know anything about this.’

  ‘He went missing in Newtown – Cope had just mobilised everyone – everyone except me, incidentally: I never received the phone call someone was supposed to make – when we heard he’d been killed in an RTA. But there are things about the accident – I don’t know.’

  ‘It sounds to me very much as if you do, Kate.’ His voice became warm with approval. She could see his slow smile in her mind’s eye. ‘What are your plans for today?’

  ‘Some time today I have to buy a mattress and I have to see Cassie. But I thought I’d go into work, see if I could make sense of one or two things.’

  There was a pause. ‘Hmm. Now, I’ve got to take my wife to her hairdresser’s this morning. But I shall come in as soon as I can. Go and sort out your mattress now, Kate. And I’ll be with you about eleven.’ He put the phone down.

  Yes! She punched the air and sprang to her feet, grinning. And then she sat down. Why all this fuss? She was simply going to talk to her boss about some particularly vicious crimes. But it was so nice, so very nice, to be taken seriously, to have your judgment trusted.

  She’d take the car. Although it was a lovely autumn day, sunny and quite warm, the streets were still almost empty. Saturday rush hours came later, perhaps.

  The phone again. Should she leave it? But she decided to take the call.

  ‘Kate? Graham. Did you say you wanted a mattress?’

  ‘Yes: I’ve got an old-fashioned bed with a metal frame and springs. Sooner or later I’m going to have to get a modern one and attach the headboard and footboard but I haven’t time …’

  ‘There’s a spare in my garage. Ma-in-law bought it and then didn’t like it. All we’ve got to do is transport it.’

  ‘I’ll think of something,’ she said.

  ‘Good. We’ll sort it out later. See you, Kate.’

  ‘See you!’ And, as he put down the phone, she yelled, ‘Alf?’

  If it hadn’t been for the sun slanting across her desk, she wouldn’t have noticed her memo pad. The top page was clean, but that wasn’t surprising. She wasn’t a doodler, and once she’d dealt with a message she tended to scrap the paper and start afresh. What was surprising was the depth of the indentations on this new top page: someone had scribbled in a hurry, underscoring something. If she looked at it face on, there was nothing to see. If she slanted it even more, so the light caught it at an even more oblique angle, she might be able to work it out. Not quite. Not quite.

  Someone else was coming in: instinctively, she shoved the pad into her tights drawer. She was sitting down, casually reaching another from her top drawer when Cope saw her.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ The question wasn’t hostile, more surprised.

  She stood. ‘Trying to catch up on some of my back-log, Sir.’

  He nodded her back to her seat. ‘Fair enough. Looks like you’ll have a lot more to do soon, me wench.’ He slapped the file he was carrying. ‘That kid as was run over. Young –’ He stopped to check.

  ‘Danny Butler, Sir.’

  ‘Right. Well, he wasn’t just run over. He’d got a sore arse, too. Like young Darren.’

  She shut her mouth on what she wanted to say: that at least they now knew what had done the damage. Far better for Harvey to say that. What she could do was ask, ‘Does this mean we’ve got a murder on our hands, Sir?’

  ‘Murder?’

  ‘Did he fall or was he pushed?’ Surely Cope must be testing her in some way. He wouldn’t have missed anything as obvious as that. Bully he might be, he couldn’t be thick to have got that far in the Force.

  ‘You know what kids are. Shove the Green Cross Code into them till it comes out of their ears and they still run across the road two yards from a crossing.’

  ‘Especially if they’re running away from something. Or someone,’ she said. ‘Like the two mysterious bystanders who called the paramedics. And then disappeared.’

  ‘Some stupid WPC didn’t know she should take a statement,’ Cope said. ‘There’s been some more pharmacy break-ins. Ladywood, they’ve started on now. Here’s the reports.’ He slung them on to her desk.

  No slinging them back; no pointing out they’d got sick bastards out there ruining and maybe ending young lives. Just routine until Graham arrived. Pulling the papers towards her, she sighed. Looked like another morning on the phone.

  She heard Graham’s brisk, light footsteps coming down the corridor. She was smiling her professional smile when she looked up, but as he came into the room, she could feel her dimples insisting on making an appearance.

  ‘How’s it going?’ he said, coming to peer at her computer screen.

  ‘The pharmacy break-ins, Sir? I think we –

  ‘Bloody hell, woman – I thought we’d got a murder on our hands. Don’t you have a sense of priorities?’

  She shrugged. Still without saying anything, she reached in her tights drawer, and handed him the memo-pad, slanting it so that the sun fingered the impressions in the paper. He took it in silence, tilting it backwards and forwards. Then he looked her straight
in the eye. ‘My room. Five minutes,’ he mouthed.

  She nodded. He took the pad with him.

  Tapping at his door, she found him at his desk, head bent over a sheet of paper.

  He looked up briefly, then returned to his task – scraping a pencil lead into fine dust. ‘Shades of Biggles,’ he said tersely. ‘There.’ He tipped the graphite on to her pad, shaking and blowing so it filled the indentations.

  WPC Harjit Kaur: definitely no ball.

  Graham looked at her: ‘I’m sure this means something to you!’

  She sat down, nodding. ‘The lorry driver who ran over young Danny was convinced he was chasing a ball. His parents are equally convinced his ball was in his toy rack, and if he’d got another he must have nicked it. What I’d have liked to do was check the local shops, just in case.’

  ‘But you don’t expect any of them to have lost one on Thursday?’

  ‘No. Not now the result of the PM has come in. I think someone – mutilated – him, and wanted him dead. Pushed him under that juggernaut and sent a ball bowling along as well.’

  ‘Quite an imagination you’ve got, Kate.’

  She nodded. ‘I know. But there’s the hard fact that the two men who dialled nine nine nine beat it as soon as we turned up. Harjit Kaur.’

  ‘The woman the message is from.’

  ‘I hoped to speak to her in person. Forgot to phone her last night, I’m afraid. But at least she was on the ball enough to phone me. Oh. Oh, I’m sorry.’

  He gave a bark of dry laughter. ‘Sounds as if you could use a cup of tea.’

  She got up to make it, but the kettle was empty. ‘Back in two ticks.’ She took the large polythene bottle, his back-up supply, too.

  As she headed for the loo, she wondered how much more she should mention. Was it grassing? Or was it what a loyal officer and friend – friend! – should do? She rolled the word round her head. Well, that was how she thought of Graham, but she’d really been thinking of Colin. Funny how things got mixed up when you weren’t thinking about them properly. She washed out the bottle and kettle, and then filled them both. Before she left, though, she put them down so she could tuck up her hair which was escaping from the clips. That was better. No point in looking a total mess.