Hidden Power Page 19

  Leaving the bike where it was, she set off on foot. Training brought her back to chain it to a road sign: Gradient One in Four. The place was so remote they hadn’t got round to the new signs giving gradients in percentages. There. Though whatever criminal activities there might be here, she didn’t imagine vehicle theft would be one of them.

  She’d only gone forty yards, framing with her hands the way Robin used to the aspects she might want to photograph, when a four-wheel drive came up the hill at her. No, not towards her. Straight at her. No. She was being paranoid. There wasn’t much road, and—hell! Yes, it was at. She jumped backwards, grateful for a bramble cushioning her fall. Leathers could cope with brambles.

  ‘Get off my land.’ The driver was yelling at her even before he’d opened his door. No, he didn’t want a discussion about rights of way. Not the way his door came between her and the open road. ‘What are you doing here?’ Even if she’d been trespassing, which she was fairly sure she wasn’t, he was unnaturally angry. Big men like him, faces coarse-veined and eyes bulging, got as angry as that at their own risk. But he wouldn’t want a lecture on the importance for middle-aged men of keeping down their blood-pressure.

  She tried the open-eyed, literal truth. ‘Taking pictures of this lovely view.’ Her gesture took in the rise of the moors, the colours of the heather and the few trees, the breadth of sky. ‘I’ve never seen anything quite like it,’ she added, allowing a Brummie whine to burgeon.

  ‘Well, you won’t see anything like it again. Get off my land.’

  Now was not the moment to point out that she couldn’t, not until he’d moved. ‘I didn’t know I was trespassing or anything I’m ever so sorry.’ She tried her best beam.

  The treacle-brown eyes did not respond.

  ‘I didn’t know it was private—hey, are you some pop star or something? Cos I don’t recognise—’

  ‘Shut the fuck up and get out!’ He eased the door back, but then stepped closer. ‘How many photos did you take?’

  ‘Just—hang on, what are you doing?’

  He’d grabbed the strap holding it round her neck and was tugging it. ‘Just making sure—’

  ‘Please—please! My husband gave me that before he died!’ Though the accent might be feigned, her agitation wasn’t. Christ, what if it was a brand new model? Something to check when she got back.

  ‘Pity he didn’t tell you to be more careful where you used it.’

  ‘Look, mate—I’ve told you I’m sorry. Just let me go!’ With her training, she could tip him over, no doubt about that. But she’d have to make a run for it, and the bloody bike was chained. ‘Please!’

  He yanked, sharply, hurting her neck. The quality they had gone in for, her neck would break before the strap. ‘Give it here.’

  ‘Please! He was killed—please! Can’t I just give you the film? Though it’s got all this afternoon’s pictures on it. Oh, God!’ She managed a convincing sob.

  ‘We’ll see. Hand it over!’

  He meant the camera, but she’d play daft. Tipping the camera, she found the little catch at the bottom, and, giving him one more pleading look, put her thumb to it. He stuck out an implacable hand.

  As the cassette slipped out, he grabbed and pulled hard. Staring her hard in the face, he tore the full length of celluloid from the cassette, crumpled it, and shoved it deep into his trousers pocket. At least he was convinced he had destroyed a whole used film. ‘Now fuck off. And if I see you again it’ll be more than the film you lose. Pretty little face like yours—that barbed wire wouldn’t do it a lot of good, would it?’

  Since he was still holding the car door, she ducked back round the back of the car, and ran up the hill. Not a Kate Power sprint: the ineffective arm-flapping run of a scared Kate Potter. And she practically embraced the bike.

  He hadn’t finished, of course. He tailed her, right back to Chagford, so close to her rear wheel she was constantly afraid of being shunted down the long, steep hill. The extra oomph Ned had given her was useless here: it wasn’t acceleration she needed, but brakes and stability. It was only as they reached the outskirts that he backed off, turning left for the moors again. As for her, she was content to pick up the B3206. Content? Bloody relieved. Any pursuit was real police stuff, not for Kate Potter on a fart-and-bang, no matter how deceptive. She’d find a payphone in Moretonhampstead and have a word with Ma Earnshaw.

  Earnshaw scanned with distaste the bedclothes draped all over the radiators: the sun had done its best, but the mist had returned to Newton earlier than to Dartmoor, and had seeped into everything. Kate didn’t apologise: if she did; she knew Earnshaw would make her explain.

  She’d spent enough time talking anyway. Earnshaw had listened attentively, making occasional notes but not interrupting.

  ‘Of course,’ she said at last, ‘you might just have come across a bad-tempered old sod with a hell of a hangover.’

  ‘I might indeed. But I thought you should know that someone got a very close look at my face and then my bike.’

  ‘You hadn’t got your skid-lid on?’

  Kate shook her head. ‘I’d taken it off to take the photos.’

  ‘You’d better let me have the film he didn’t get at. I don’t suppose it’ll be much use, but it might give the clever boys some clue about where this farm is.’

  Kate handed it over. ‘I can do better than that. I’ve got the grid reference here. You know, for the Ordnance Survey map.’ She wrote it down. ‘The trouble is, checking up on someone in that sort of terrain isn’t like doing it in Birmingham. A bloke sitting in a car’s no great shakes in a city: out in the wilds a stray cyclist would be news.’

  ‘Not to mention a stray motorcyclist. What are we going to do about that bike of yours? I’d like to get you kitted out with a new one now it’s been seen, but you obviously need it to get to work, and they might notice any changes we made to the plate.’

  ‘Quite. And Gary Vernon would know I couldn’t afford a new one.’

  ‘I’m not happy about your keeping it, all the same. Leave it to me: I’ll think of something. As for the listening devices, they’re asking if we can justify the expense. You’ve given us nothing in the way of hard evidence yet, Kate: lots of hints and promises, but nothing I can wave at Them Upstairs and say, give us some fucking money.’

  ‘Like Bob Geldof at Live Aid.’ Earnshaw didn’t bite. ‘But I’ve got the car and van numbers, the memos about office plants, the news that the office and the older apartments are fitted with surveillance cameras—is none of that hard evidence? What do they want me to do? Barge into the conference room and take their photos?’

  ‘OK. I’ll tell them I want the bugs tonight. Are you sure you daren’t risk a proper shuffle yourself?’

  Kate spread her hands. ‘I suppose I could take the coffee in—but it’s such a big risk for such a small gain. Tell me, Ma’am, this mole of ours. Shouldn’t she have warned us about this conference?’

  ‘Mole’s far too grand a word, in my humble opinion. Between ourselves, Power, it’s just a drinking mate of someone upstairs who thought the brisk turnover of staff was worth worrying about.’

  ‘But the office women have been there for ages… Are we going through all these hoops because of someone’s hunch?’

  Earnshaw looked her straight in the eye. ‘What’s the police, Power, without hunches?’

  ‘Point taken. More coffee, Ma’am?’

  ‘No, thanks. Better get rid of what you’ve already given me before I go. Just the one loo, upstairs?’

  ‘That’s right. Opposite the bedrooms.’

  Kate picked up the mugs and wandered into the kitchen, putting them into the sink and filling them with water. Suddenly she felt very tired. But not too tired to respond to Earnshaw’s bellow. She took the stairs two at a time.

  ‘City slicker I may not be. But I’m not as green as I am cabbage-looking,’ Earnshaw announced. ‘And I can tell the smell of cannabis when it crawls across a carpet at me. Open your bedroom do
or, Power.’

  Kate obeyed. If it hadn’t been for Ned and her new locks, she wouldn’t have felt so confident.

  Earnshaw stepped inside and sniffed. ‘All right: nothing in there. Craig’s.’

  ‘He’s not here to see what you’re doing, Ma’am.’

  Earnshaw shrugged and opened Craig’s door. ‘Jesus God, there’s enough bloody pot here to give a sniffer-dog hay fever.’ She might have taken in the unwashed pants and socks, but it was on Kate she rounded: ‘What are you doing, letting this go on?’ Her voice softer, she added, ‘I don’t mean you had to go round with a fire extinguisher every time he lit up. But you should have told us.’

  ‘You didn’t catch the smell on his clothing?’

  Earnshaw surveyed the chaos again. ‘And you didn’t tell us. Or about this—this shit heap.’ She swung round, arms akimbo, ‘And what else didn’t you tell us? Come on, Kate: we need to know.’ Her glare was replaced by an amused smile. ‘You may be able to act your way through life at Cockwood, but I can tell you’re hiding something. What is it?’

  Kate sensed rather than heard a movement downstairs. She spoke loudly, clearly. ‘Look, Ma’am: why should I hide anything from you? Craig and I have had our ups and downs, but apart from his preferring a pigsty for a room, there’s nothing I can complain of.’

  ‘I suppose you’ll tell me the truth in your own good time.’ There was the unmistakable clunk of a door shutting. Earnshaw gripped Kate’s arm. ‘Who the hell’s that?’

  Chapter 20

  ‘Craig! How the hell did you get in?’ In her moment of fear, Earnshaw had probably given Kate bruises to match those Craig had inflicted at the weekend. But her voice came out as its usual truculent self.

  ‘Through the front door. You hadn’t locked it. Tut, tut. Evening, Ma.’ He teetered on the verge of insolence, then inched further to the edge: ‘Kate been complaining about my bedroom floor, has she?’

  ‘Kate? I’ve been complaining that she didn’t tell me you were a bloody pothead. Kate: you’ve got bin-liners? Go and fetch one, there’s a good girl: Craig will need it for this lot.’ Earnshaw touched a pair of pants with the tip of her toe ‘Maybe two. There’s stuff here that should go straight into the bin.’ She pointed at a couple of fast-food containers.

  From Craig’s glare as she headed for the stairs, Kate knew he’d picked up the same message: she was to make herself scarce while Earnshaw wound herself up into bollocking mode. So, besides finding the bin-liners, she washed up and folded the bedclothes so the radiator aired a different damp patch. At last she deemed it safe to go up. Which face was the more murderous? Earnshaw’s, probably, but only by a whisker.

  ‘She won’t split: you won’t admit whatever crappy little trick you’ve played. What a bloody pair. OK, Craig: I want that bedroom immaculate—the way my training sergeant liked things. And when it is, you can come down and make us all a coffee and we can discuss what’s going to happen next. Oh, and when I say “immaculate” I mean “immaculate”—I presume this place runs to dusters and a vacuum cleaner?’

  Kate avoided Craig’s eye. Damn it, who’d have thought Earnshaw possessed such domestic leanings? Not Kate for sure, not when she thought about all that washing up.

  ‘Under the stairs, Ma’am,’ she said, deadpan.

  ‘Well, I’m sure the noise of the vac won’t interrupt our little talk, Kate. Nice strong coffee, young man, and plenty of milk. Osteoporosis,’ she added darkly, leading the way down the stairs and heading for the sitting room, where she sank into an armchair. ‘And knowing all that,’ she continued, as if in the same breath, ‘you’re prepared to give him a chance to work alongside you at the complex? You’re off your head, Kate. Why the fuck didn’t you tell us? Since when are police officers supposed to kipper themselves brainless with bloody cannabis? As a matter of interest, what else is he on?’

  Kate found it hard not to flinch. Rude and eccentric she might be, but what was certain was that Earnshaw was a copper’s copper. In an interview room, she’d be able to fry a villain at twenty paces. ‘I’ve no idea, Ma’am. If he is at all, that is.’

  ‘You must have wondered.’ And if not, why not was the subtext.

  ‘I’d have thought cannabis tended to relax people, slow them down,’ Kate reflected, as if it were an academic question. ‘Perhaps a small minority are affected differently; The Drug Squad should be able to help—’

  ‘That’s right: sit round theorising while we should be deciding what to do next.’

  ‘With respect, Ma’am, any discussion about that must involve Craig himself. It seems to me you’ve done the right thing pulling him out of here—we’re obviously never going to be bosom buddies. But—’

  ‘But by the same token, we’ve removed your protection. Having him here as back-up was part of the plan.’

  Another part that had never been spelt out. One really thorough briefing could have spared so much trouble. But Kate nodded sagely. At the moment she needed Earnshaw’s total support.

  ‘Would you have him back?’ There was a pleading note in Earnshaw’s voice that made her sound very much like the mother she was supposed to be.

  ‘Depends whether he’d want to come. But we’d have to have a fresh set of house rules—impartially imposed, maybe—and both have to keep to them.’

  ‘Humph.’

  The phone rang. She set off to the kitchen: even in her current touchy mood, Earnshaw could hardly object. Whether she did or not, she tailed after Kate to listen-in.

  ‘Kate? This is Julie Vernon here. How are you after all your trials and tribulations?’

  ‘Fine, thanks, Julie. My mother-in-law’s here with me—she came to see fair play when Craig collected more of his stuff. His floor was remarkably like Elly’s.’

  Earnshaw frowned, interrogatively. Kate winked back. ‘Tell him to clean it, then!’ Julie laughed.

  ‘It’s Ma-in-law’s job to tell him that.’

  Another woman-to-woman laugh. ‘Now, I wonder if we could ask the most enormous favour. This conference of Gary’s—we thought it’d be over tomorrow. But it seems some really bigwig wants to address the troops tomorrow evening, and that means me putting on my best bib and tucker and joining them. So we were wondering—could we ask you to look after Tom and Elly? Usual rates, of course.’

  ‘That’d be great. Yes, I’d love to.’

  ‘We were wondering if you’d want to stay over. We’ve no idea what time all this will finish, and I know you have to be up and about early to get to work on time.’

  Kate thought hard and fast. ‘I’d love to. But I don’t want to wake everyone when I go off. And no matter how hard I’d try to start the bike quietly, there’s no way people could sleep through it. So—thanks for the offer—but I honestly think I’d be better coming home. Doesn’t take long, late at night. Or, better still, I could even stay with my parents-in-law. It’d take World War Three to wake them. Hang on, I’ll ask Ma-in-law. She’s just here.’

  She raised her eyebrows: Earnshaw nodded. ‘There, that’s settled. What time do you need me?’

  ‘Seven.’

  ‘Seven it is. And thanks, Julie, for thinking of me. It’s very kind.’ She cut the connection.

  Before she could even speak to Earnshaw, Craig yelled from the doorway, ‘You get the chance to stay the night and you turn it down? Jesus God! I tell you, she’s off her head, Guv.’

  ‘What can I achieve staying the night that I can’t achieve in an evening? If I were staying over they’d expect to find me tucked up with my teddy bear when they got back, not prowling round in street clothes. Not that they’ll find me prowling at all, please God. They’ll find me doing the ironing or the washing up.’

  ‘So you won’t be—?’

  ‘I shall do my best. But it has to be a discreet best, for God’s sake. What if one of the children found me peering into Daddy’s safe; or accessing his computer? What if they came home early and found me at it?’

  Earnshaw scratched her cheek. ‘Seems
to me the answer’s halfway. I can see you don’t want to be caught out, but it’s time to move a bit more quickly, Kate. Softly, softly’s fine, provided the monkey’s going to hang around to get caught.’

  ‘And you’ve had some indication that it isn’t. I really need to know these things, Ma’am.’

  Earnshaw shifted. ‘None so far. But like I said, Them Upstairs keep pointing out how expensive this operation is. I don’t see any coffee, Craig.’

  Craig clearly wished to tell her to get it herself.

  Kate led the way into the living room.

  ‘I have to say this, Ma’am—I feel that making friends of these people is morally wrong. Working in the complex is fine. Baby-sitting—well,’ she rocked her hand, ‘that’s getting dodgy. But sleeping over and spying on people—if you insist on my doing it, I shall play it straight.’

  ‘Will you indeed? Come on, Power, you’re a police officer, not a fucking philosopher. Oh, shit!’ Earnshaw clapped a hand over her mouth, rolling her eyes for all the world like a guilty schoolgirl.

  Kate said dryly, ‘Quite. You have to be ultra-careful, don’t you? Cheap shoes, cheap clothes, hair you hate. Living with people you’d cross the road to avoid. That’s what being undercover is. And it only takes one move, one word, out of order and you’ve messed up the whole lot.’ She paused for breath. Her voice had risen too.

  Craig came in, two mugs clamped in his left hand, one in his right. He plonked them on the coffee table. ‘What a fucking song and dance. It’s a fucking job, isn’t it? No need for all these fucking dramatics.’

  Kate picked up one of the coffees, taking a deep breath. Somehow she had to get through to both Earnshaw and Craig. It was time to take a risk. ‘Well, some jobs are easier than others. Last time I got to deal with incontinent old ladies. What about you, Craig?’

  He picked up a mug and wandered to the window. ‘Vice.’

  Earnshaw opened her mouth, but Kate silenced her with a quick gesture. ‘Down here?’