Still Waters Page 15

  Inevitably, while she was preoccupied, she ran into Gates, almost literally.

  ‘Are you feeling better?’ she asked, hoping she sounded as if she cared. A much more important enquiry would be into Roo’s state of health this morning. And Kanga’s.

  Clearly he regarded her question as at best an irrelevance, at worst an impertinence. ‘You weren’t in earlier this morning,’ he said.

  ‘No. I was out on a case. The Lady in the Lake that the media are so interested in.’ Her subtext was that if the media were sniffing round, it was incumbent on the CID to put up their most stalwart representatives. Fran had had more experience than most with fending off the wrong questions and seizing ones the police were more than happy to give answers to. She also seemed to have a TV-friendly face, though that always puzzled her, and presumed Mark would also want her to do a piece to camera for the regional news programmes going out at six-thirty.

  ‘Really?’ His face could not have conveyed less interest. ‘Why you had to drop everything and scurry across country simply to watch divers in action defeats me. And then observe the autopsy this morning!’ He flapped his hands in exasperation.

  ‘You could say it was part of the project investigating the needs of divisional CIDs,’ she suggested, tongue in cheek. ‘I picked up some useful ideas.’ He appeared never to have heard of the day-to-day needs of divisional CIDs, despite having delegated Fran to investigate them. ‘But in fact, I was simply doing what any DCS should do. I was maintaining an active presence.’

  ‘And of course you asked Henson?’ The question was waspish.

  ‘Of course. In the event I found he was off sick.’ Should she tell him that Henson had left a message asking her to take responsibility for anything urgent or would that be to grass him up? Let Gates make his own deductions. ‘I acted on my own initiative and informed the ACC (Crime) accordingly.’

  ‘As if you couldn’t twist Turner round your little finger. You know it’s not considered good for staff morale to have two senior officers in a relationship working in the same area.’

  Had no one told him that the chief had played a major part in bringing them together?

  ‘I quite understand that, sir. But you will understand it’s a view I don’t share. Now, if you’ll excuse me, sir, I have to go to the incident room to prepare for this afternoon’s press conference.’

  ‘You?’

  The strength of his revulsion rocked her. It was all she could do to ask mildly, ‘Who else would you suggest, sir? I’m sure the ACC is open to ideas.’

  As he turned on his heel she regretted that particular shot. She had a feeling it might rebound.

  The next person she came across was Cosmo Dix. He faced her, arms akimbo and head on one side. ‘What shall we do with you, eh, Fran? Dishing out compassionate leave to constables as if it were in your gift.’

  ‘You mean it isn’t?’ She rounded her eyes. ‘And I always thought I could give out promotions and pay rises whenever I felt like it.’

  ‘Well, you were right, of course. Morally. But it would have been nice if you’d warned me before I get some old buffer from Maidstone nick exploding down the phone at me. Seems the little pregnant lady hadn’t finished her filing, or something.’

  ‘Sorry, Cosmo. Of course I should have told you. Asked you, actually.’

  He took a step backward, then peered at her. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

  ‘Any reason why I shouldn’t be?’

  ‘Not your style, apologising, Fran. I wondered if you were going down with something.’

  ‘Nope. Maybe just mellowing little.’

  Cosmo looked at her oddly. ‘That’s not like you either.’ But his pager went before he could say any more and he had to toddle off.

  However much pressure they were under, either in the incident room or elsewhere, Fran had always insisted that her colleagues take adequate meal breaks, getting away from computers and gruesome photos alike, in relays if necessary. Today was no different. So there were still a couple of latecomers dawdling back when they convened for a briefing before Fran moved on to her next task. She was glad to see they put on a sprint as soon as they saw she was in place.

  ‘So what do I have to tell the press?’ she began. ‘What are they likely to bite and swallow? What’s best kept away from them?’

  ‘We’re dealing with a killer who knew the district very well,’ Fran told the TV camera, ‘and concealed his victim with no regard to the health and safety of people living in the neighbourhood. But even in a remote part of the country like this, someone must have seen him dispose of the body. We’re appealing particularly to anyone who had an allotment in this area, near Lenham, about three years ago to come forward. Every bit of information, no matter how trivial it may seem, could help solve this most unusual case. Thank you.’ She smiled earnestly and stopped. There was no need to say that the police had already started to comb through council records and anyone who had rented an allotment at the salient time would be receiving a routine visit. It was better psychologically for Joe Public to feel important. ‘I hope the wind didn’t blow all that away.’

  Dilly Pound, who always insisted she owed Fran a favour after a stalking case, gave a thumbs-up sign. ‘Perfect. I don’t know how you manage to get it right first time.’

  ‘Years of practice,’ Fran said. ‘Maybe too many.’

  ‘Have you got time for a drink, Fran? Daniel was only saying the other night how nice it would be to meet up again.’

  Fran’s mobile gave her the excuse she needed. ‘After this case, Dilly, if you don’t mind. You can see what it’s like. My best to Daniel.’ She turned away with more haste than courtesy to take the call.

  It was Jim Champion. ‘How are you fixed tonight, Fran? Because I’ve got young Rob coming round, remember.’

  Why hadn’t God put more hours in the day? ‘I can’t see myself making it before nine,’ she said. ‘And I’m afraid it may be later, and for a flying visit.’

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ Jim said with great satisfaction, ‘it’s the Lady in the Lake case, isn’t it?’

  ‘Right. I’m just shooting a TV statement now,’ she fibbed. ‘Watch out for me at half six.’

  ‘Watch out? I shall bloody wave!’

  ‘And I’ll try to wave back.’

  Back at the office, she slapped her head. Despite Cosmo’s equivocal rebuke, she’d not given any thought to how Roo and Kanga were today. She reached for the phone. Then stopped, as if someone had bitten her hand. Was she permitted in these days of litigation for damages for work-related stress to ask how he was, poor kid? Not to mention Kanga. She fancied that for some reason it would be permissible to phone her, but not him. After all, her being pregnant was scarcely Kent Constabulary’s fault.

  She started nibbling her pencil. She’d always thought that being brusque and bending a few rules were acceptable at her level. Clearly they hadn’t been in QED, who had left behind a reputation she’d rather not share. What if she was going round causing similar offence? Getting up the nose of a cold fish like Simon Gates was one thing, irritating a benevolent man like Cosmo quite another. Perhaps she should run it past him. And even as she used the cliché, she cursed herself. What if Simon were right? What if she were becoming a liability?

  ‘I’m sure your instinct is right, Fran,’ Cosmo said, with his most winsome smile. He turned briefly to switch on his kettle. ‘We’re implementing all the correct duty of care procedures. Believe me, no one can fault us. But since you rather took young – what did you call her? Kanga! – under your wing, I’m sure a phone call wouldn’t go amiss.’

  Fran rubbed her face. ‘I didn’t want Roo’s Police Federation rep scratching his head to see if he can detect any sinister plot behind the call.’

  ‘I take your point. No, phone away – but perhaps you shouldn’t ask about the incident itself.’ Cosmo poured them China tea from a delicate pot with a wicker handle. How much more civilised than the quick dunk of a tea bag. He placed a tr
anslucent cup and saucer in front of her. ‘There.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said humbly, though half her mind wondered, as it always did, how much of his camp act was simply that – an act, a pose.

  He looked at her sharply. ‘Are you quite sure you’re well? All this adherence to the rules stuff?’

  ‘Must be my age, Cosmo.’

  Shaking his head, he remonstrated, ‘You know quite well that’s something else we’re not supposed to allude to. Tell you what, Fran, you call Kanga – let me just check the computer for her phone number…Yes, here we are – and I’ll phone that Mark of yours and tell him to take you out to a nice romantic dinner tonight. You should wear that chic blue top of yours.’

  ‘Dinner? We’ve got a murder on our hands, Cosmo.’

  But the impact that that would have on her private life simply didn’t register with him, did it? Rather than stop to explain she blew him an exit kiss and headed back to her office. A short but friendly conversation established that Kanga’s blood pressure was about the same, at least no worse, and Roo was throwing himself into plans to paint the nursery in between sessions with all the people the police had arranged for him to see.

  ‘This leave,’ Kanga ventured. ‘We’re ever so grateful.’

  ‘Entitlement,’ Fran lied cheerfully. ‘Now, go and put your feet up.’

  Had she achieved anything? Except for her own peace of mind? At least Kanga hadn’t reported that her young husband was waking every night screaming and in a cold sweat. No doubt they’d have a little giggle at the thought of this grandmotherly old bat taking the trouble to phone. Well, let them. At least her conscience felt a bit better.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Fran joined the rest of the team in the incident room to watch the TV news. It took a gratifyingly short time for the phones to start ringing.

  What Fran hadn’t expected was to be waved at by one of the youngsters taking calls. The arm became quite frantic. Her brisk walk became a scuttle.

  ‘It’s from a guy called Ken Roper. He says you went to see him on Wednesday.’

  Fran hoped the widening of her eyes would signify exactly how significant this might be, and gave a curling thumbs-up of gratitude. Removing the headset, the young woman vacated her chair. Fran would have stood, but she wasn’t going to argue about her comfort now.

  ‘It’s Fran Harman here, Ken. What can I do for you?’

  ‘It’s that body you’ve found. Is it my Janine’s? I’ve got to know, Inspector. I’ve got to know.’

  ‘Of course you have. All we know at the moment, though, Ken, is that the body—’

  ‘Is it a woman? Is it?’

  Maybe Sue Hall was right and Roper was a superb actor. On the basis of this, Fran would award him an Oscar.

  ‘What makes you think it might be?’ she countered.

  ‘My fucking phone card’s running out. Just tell me!’

  ‘Ok, what I’m going to do is this. As soon as there’s any sign it might be Janine’, she crossed her fingers like a kid fibbing in the playground, ‘I shall get straight on to the governor and ask permission to take you to see the body. If you’re willing, that is. Because I have to tell you, Ken, she’s not a pretty sight. You do understand that, don’t you?’

  A strangled sob might have been an affirmative.

  ‘Very well. Now, I’m going to cut the call, Ken. And I promise that I shall do as I’ve said.’

  ‘Good God, I’ve never heard of that before,’ Mark admitted as she called into his office well after eight to update him. She’d tried to send him home, but he insisted that he too had work to do before he left. ‘And the governor’s already OK’d it? Well, it cuts the Gordian knot of whether you should ask him to do the ID, of course. Who’ll you get to accompany you?’ he asked ultra-casually. ‘I know you rate him but the grapevine tells me Coveney might not be the most subtle and tactful of men.’

  Playing dense, she bit her lip in deliberation. ‘I thought young Sue Hall, since she came to the prison with me. It’d be good experience for her. But it’d cut into her weekend something shocking, and it’s a hell of a sight to expose a young officer to.’

  ‘I know someone whose weekend’s already been cut into,’ he said brightly. ‘And he’s seen some pretty vile sights in his time.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ She genuinely was anxious, even though half her brain told her it was absurd to try to protect a man of his seniority.

  ‘I can’t see anyone arguing, can you?’

  ‘I can. Gates. He doesn’t like us working together anyway. He’d find it really offensive if we did something so unorthodox.’

  ‘Would he know?’

  ‘He’d find out. Hell, it’d be all over the building by noon.’

  ‘Does it matter if he does find out? Because I happen to have found something out about him.’

  She hated it when Mark drew out what was obviously a good story like that. ‘Bloody hell, just spit it out, Mark. I’m due the far side of Ashford in half an hour.’

  ‘Take a driver and do it in style. You’re entitled.’

  ‘Can’t. I’m trying to get the inside story on the original Roper and Barnes case from one of Jim Champion’s mates, and it’s all strictly sub rosa. For God’s sake, what are you smirking about? You look like the Cheshire Cat before it disappeared.’

  ‘Purr. You know that car we disturbed outside the Rectory? The one the Pact camera caught twice? You’ll never guess who it’s registered to. None other than the deputy chief constable of Kent Constabulary, Simon Gates.’

  ‘Simon? What the—?’

  ‘I don’t know. But before I leave I shall do some digging. Off you go – and remember, I want you back home in one piece.’

  ‘Remember the Roper case? I do indeed. I was this close to getting a disciplinary while I was part of the team investigating,’ Rob admitted, leaning forward as if he feared Jim’s over-decorated, over-warm room were bugged. He held his thumb a millimetre from his index finger. He’d arrived at Jim’s before Fran, and was well down a bottle of Beck’s. He greeted Fran with what she fancied was a mixture of relief and apprehension. As Jim had said, he was small for the police, but his compact body suggested serious workouts.

  ‘How come?’ Fran asked. Despite herself, she too spoke softly, and hunched towards him like a fellow conspirator.

  Ostentatiously Jim hooked a hand round his left ear.

  ‘Because I wouldn’t accept what the rest of the team agreed,’ Rob said, at normal volume.

  ‘The team as in QED Moreton,’ she prompted.

  ‘Quite. Anyway, he was convinced.’

  ‘That was the trouble with old QED. He always was,’ Jim put in. ‘Plus he was one of the sort that believed that shouting speaks louder than words.’

  ‘And the DPP were convinced, of course,’ Fran pointed out gently. ‘And then the judge and jury.’

  ‘St Peter himself would be convinced by QED in full flood. It never bothered young Rob, though, swimming against the stream,’ Jim noted with evident satisfaction. ‘Same as you, Fran.’

  He’d love to hear about her run-ins with Gates, wouldn’t he? But she just said, ‘If it had cost me my pension it would have bothered me a lot. And it might have cost you your career, Rob.’ And thus a lot of money and soon a lot of status.

  He nodded. ‘That’s what shut me up. I was getting married, needed the job to pay my mortgage, and instead of being on track for inspector at thirty or so, I’d be queuing up to become a security guard. I think that’s why I ended up stuck in Road Management and Safety—’

  ‘Told you it would have a fancy new name,’ Jim said.

  ‘To get me out of CID’s hair for a bit.’

  ‘Don’t stay becalmed there too long. Mind you, it can be fun, can’t it? All those nifty sets of wheels?’ she added with a grin. ‘But what did you disagree with? Off the record for now, though I can’t promise I shan’t come back to you more formally.’

  The likelihood of any formal inquiry at this sta
ge was remote in the extreme, the chief perpetrator of any misdemeanour being dead. In any case, how many senior officers could put their hands on their hearts and claim never to have cut the odd corner?

  ‘You can trust our Fran, I promise you that,’ Jim put in.

  Did Rob need that reassurance? He gave Fran something like a complicitous grin, as if they were both indulging Jim. She hoped her body language and intent expression would convince him that this was nothing that she for one would joke about.

  ‘You’ve got these two chaps,’ he began, slowly at first, as if marshalling facts. ‘One is Janine’s husband – that’s Ken Roper – and the other is Maurice Barnes, who’s supposed to be her lover. And the theory is that the hubby finds out about their affair and kills her, and blackmails her lover into helping him dispose of the body out at sea. Right?’

  ‘I admit it sounds a bit far-fetched,’ Fran conceded, saying nothing yet about the latest developments, ‘but people under stress often do strange things.’

  ‘They do. But Lover Boy wouldn’t have been having an affair with the wife, not in my book. If he was shagging anyone, it’d be the husband. Like this they were.’ He crossed his fingers. ‘That was the sense I got, anyway. Very strongly.’

  Jim said, ‘I suppose they couldn’t have killed this Janine so they could continue their affair? She taunts one or both of them and one or both of them loses his cool and…’

  ‘Didn’t strike me as violent, either of them. All the evidence was circumstantial – er, ma’am.’

  ‘Here I’m Fran.’

  He glanced at Jim, who smiled encouragingly. ‘Fran. The jury went bug-eyed with all the DNA stuff.’

  ‘The blood in her bathroom and her hair on Barnes’ pillow?’