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  ‘Arid you think getting on to the weekend roster would do that?’

  ‘Always assuming I could, of course! We’re talking about an agency being fair to its clients here—both the employers and the employees. We can’t expect them to sling perfectly good workers back on to the dole just because Kate Potter fancies doing more hours than she’s entitled to. There’s another issue too: the sales team.’ She reminded her of the problem.

  Earnshaw shook her head. ‘They wouldn’t associate you now with the smart young woman I’m sure you were at their presentations. Even if they came across you, which they’re unlikely to. No, no one notices cleaners.’

  She pulled a face. ‘I think the Hythe two would—you tend to remember people you don’t like. Anyway, next week—as I told Craig—I shall approach the agency and ask if there’s more work there. Or better still I’ll get the manager at Sophisticasun to approach them.’

  ‘What if Vernon wants a spot of the old quid pro quo?’

  ‘He prides himself on being a family man.’

  ‘Often the worst.’

  • So how many times might Earnshaw have been propositioned? She was just about the most asexual woman Kate had ever come across. ‘Craig isn’t serious about trying to get a job at the complex, is he? Because I wouldn’t want him treading on my toes.’

  ‘Well,’ Earnshaw equivocated, scrunching her napkin, ‘he’s a dab hand when it comes to gardening.’

  “You mean you’ve, said yes?’ She felt her grip tightening on the tumbler.

  ‘I didn’t say that. But there’s a feeling that two might work better than one.’

  ‘Gaffer: I’ve painted a nice little scenario for Gary Vernon, the boss. I need plenty of hours because the bloke I’m with has over-extended us on the mortgage. If the said bloke suddenly turns up on site with a nice fat contract, that blows my story out of the water. And maybe me with it. These people are pros, remember, even if we don’t know exactly what they’re professional at. Innocent employers :wouldn’t scan their employees’ moves or go to such lengths to prevent anyone getting into a cupboard. I dread to think what their computer accessing system’s like. Honestly, there’s no way you should even consider the idea.’

  ‘OK.’ Earnshaw fished out her purse. ‘Coffee? Of course,’ she said, heaving herself to her feet, ‘it would be good to have back-up on site—if there were any trouble.’

  But Kate wasn’t halfway convinced. ‘If he goes in, Ma’am, I come out. I quit.’

  ‘You’re supposed to be doing a job, Kate.’

  ‘Then let me do it. My way.’

  ‘Craig’s just as experienced as you. A sergeant, like you.’

  ‘And a young man with a bob on himself. We can’t afford to let ego get in the way.’

  ‘You mean, not his ego.’

  ‘If you like. I don’t need this, Ma’am. Any of it. I’m under cover with a fraction of the time I should have had to prepare myself.’

  ‘I briefed you It was Craig’s job to fill you in on the details are you saying—?’

  A chance to land him in it properly! Kate took a deep breath. ‘All I’m saying is that I’ve got a house and garden crying out for me back in Brum. I’ve got an inspector’s posting coming through any day. You want Craig to do the job—he can do it. Fine by me. Absolutely fine. I can go home.’

  Earnshaw regarded her steadily. ‘That you last word, Kate?’

  Kate held her gaze. ‘My last word.’

  Chapter 9

  Time to turn for home, then. The thought made her sick. She pulled herself together: that place in Newton Abbot wasn’t home, of course, not within any definition of the term that she knew. It was merely a house she’d stay in just as long as she was doing this job. If it was shared by another officer she didn’t like, and whose competence she seriously doubted, that was too bad. She was a professional, and professionals dealt with problems. But not necessarily by leaping on underpowered motorbikes and heading off into the hills.

  And yet, why not? The sun was warm, the sky blue and almost cloud-free. The main road from Newton Abbot to the west called. Why not go to some of the touristy places she was supposed to know intimately? Buckfastleigh, for instance? But a couple of close-ish calls with Euro-monster lorries on the A38 convinced her that a trunk road was not the place for her, so she turned off at Ashburton, heading roughly for another tourist mecca, Widecombe-in-the-Moor. This time the road was crammed with coaches, which were worse than fast lorries. The best thing was to plunge on to a maze of tiny roads. Even without the Dartmoor speed limit, for which she thanked the powers-that-be, no one could hope to do more than twenty or thirty along these. There were vertical as well as horizontal bends, and some had worn so deep between the steep-sided banks she might almost have been riding through tunnels. But the tunnels always led upwards. She was heading, whether she liked it or not, for the moor.

  Kate scanned the horizon. So this was Dartmoor. This was where they sent the worst cons. Except they wouldn’t send them to a lovely area like tins She was on the elbow of some river, the grass in front of her showing all the signs of family picnics throughout the summer. There was even the tiniest of beaches—a patch of river-washed shingle at least As she took off her helmet and shook her hair loose, combing it with her fingers just as if anyone might see and care, a couple of cars drew up Eight elderly people got out, making much of erecting chairs and tables and making tea The pretty wildness was immediately a domestic idyll She consulted the OS map This must be Hexworthy. So Princeton must be—yes, over there, just a few miles to the north-west And maybe the moor wouldn’t be so golden and lovely if you were an inmate on the run You might have to pick your way through the sort of mist that had swirled round her on her early-morning journeys thicker, more disorientating, because it wouldn’t be just sea mist It would be swirling low cloud, soaking to the skin, chilling to the bone And the map told her that while the area between Hexworthy and the prison might be bleak, at least there were signs on the map of habitation The section of the moors to the north of the jail would be far more intimidating—acres of exposed land, without even lanes to pick up and follow What was it like to be so far from the next house.

  Well, she told herself, folding the map, she wouldn’t be finding out today. Or any day, probably—you could only walk that sort of terrain, and even then, to judge by the number of red-marked danger areas, you might find yourself being casually shot at by the Army.

  Where next?

  Home, she told herself ironically.

  She locked the bike in the garage, remembering to heave it as close as possible to the rear wall so Craig could park his Escort Winch meant, it dawned on her slowly, that he wasn’t back yet. Great. She pulled off her helmet and stowed it. A stretch reminded her how stiff she was—it was one thing to be fit, but another to use the muscles that cleaning used. How about a cup of some of that herbal tea and a long hot aromatherapy bath? She double-checked she’d bolted the bathroom door.

  The bath was uncomfortably short even for someone of Kate’s height, but she could submerge parts of herself in rotation while she lay and thought.

  How would Earnshaw deal with the situation? She hadn’t liked Kate’s forthright rejection of Craig’s suggestion that was clear. But she wouldn’t have liked it any more if Kate had been mealy-mouthed about it—rather less, probably. The trouble was, Earnshaw, formidable as she was, was only part of a team, and not the most senior member, either. How Chief Superintendent Knowles would feel about her threatened insurrection she’d no idea It would largely depend on how Earnshaw reported it, no doubt.

  What also mattered was how the hierarchy reported their decision to Craig. And when. And where she was at the time. Despite the steam still fugging up the bathroom, she shivered as she dried herself. She might be sure of back-up in a professional emergency, but there was no friend to chew things over with Not even a girlfriend to meet at the pub. She’d never lacked for companionship when she’d been at the old folk’s home—part of
the job had been to mix with the other carers as much as she could But now she had no one but Craig, who was, of course, the problem. The bastard, going behind her back like that! That was better: a little righteous anger to counter his assumptions that he was boss, both in the job and in the house. There must be some straight talking tonight.

  What irked her as much as anything was how the others were treating him. He had access to Earnshaw on a regular basis, while she waited at the end of the phone He also hinted, though he’d never said outright, that he knew the purpose of their operation. Which, of course, she still didn’t Why hadn’t they briefed her Yes, she could get angry with them, too. But not until she’d gone and bought some food.

  ‘You just don’t get it, do you?’ Craig exploded. ‘Bloody prawn stir-fry!’

  She touched her lips. ‘Tell me what we’re supposed to be arguing about this time, will you? If I’m to give a public performance, I need the script first.’

  ‘What the fuck—?’ But his voice died as she pointed slowly and exaggeratedly towards the party wall.

  ‘Do you not like stir-fry?’ she asked very quietly. ‘Because I don’t think you told me you didn’t.’

  ‘Little slags like fucking Kate Potter don’t do poncy stir-fries, you silly bitch. Oh,’ he continued, ‘your high and mighty fast-track cop might, but not a working-class—’

  ‘Keep your voice down, for goodness’ sake. For your information I trailed round Tesco watching what other, people put in their baskets. No—listen! Women on my sort of income don’t go for the cheap nourishing stews that sustained my great-aunt: they go along the shelves looking for reduced items. Here: ready-prepared vegetables with stir-fry sauce—reduced by eighty pence. Chilled prawns, not to be refrozen, reduced by a pound. Frozen peas and young onions and coriander for the rice. What anyone would have bought. And—in case you’re worried about not getting enough good old-fashioned British cholesterol—here’s some end-dated Eccles cakes for pud.’

  She threw the packet on to the table, all the angrier because she knew in her heart he was right. She should have bought a ready-made stir-fry and left the coriander on the shelf. She hadn’t even mentioned the ginger…Shit.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Well what?’

  ‘Well, what are you moaning about, for a start? Or how about, Well, I’m sorry I flew into a silly paddy?’

  ‘Don’t you take that tone with me!’

  ‘What tone do you want me to take?’

  ‘As if—as if—’ He slammed his hand hard on the kitchen bar. The knives on the chopping board juddered; one fell off.

  She poured a couple of glasses of the wine she’d bought. Yes, that had been an extravagance. But there was nothing in her contract anywhere that she knew of that said she had to go teetotal. And it was the sort of wine she’d bought before Rod had come on the scene.

  ‘In here,’ she said, heading into the living room. She turned on the radio, to give them some cover, in the unlikely event that their neighbour, so intrigued by the lack of shouting, might press a glass to the party wall. Then she sat down, in one of the easy chairs, not on the sofa. A cosy chat might be on the agenda, but not too cosy.

  ‘Isn’t it time we talked properly, Craig? This unhappy-relationship scenario seems to be going too far. We’re supposed to be colleagues, supporting each other.’

  ‘If you’re talking about me taking on Sophisticasun’s gardening contract.

  ‘We could talk about that if you like. It would have been nice if we’d talked about it before you took the idea to Earnshaw. Then you could have explained the pros, as you saw them, and I could have told you what I saw as cons.’ When she got no response, she added, more roughly, ‘Neither of us is playing solo, here, Craig. It’s Jack and Jill time. You fall, I come tumbling after. And vice versa.’

  ‘I don’t like leggy tarts who sleep their way to the top and then come lording it over me! Fancy accent! Fancy clothes! Fancy fucking food!’

  ‘Accent—Brummie: you said so. Clothes—I’ve yet to hear that Matalan’s haute couture. Food—we’ve already spoken about this. OK, you were prejudiced against me from the start. And that stopped you telling me what I need to know: what I’m looking for, up at Sophisticasun.’ OK, it had stopped her asking him, but in her anger, she wasn’t going to mark herself down for inaccuracy. ‘All I know is stuff about my past, and a bit about your present.’

  ‘You know all you need to know.’

  ‘Wrong on two scores. I need to know the entire purpose of the operation. Earnshaw clearly assumes I know all about it and there’s no way I was going to drop you in the shit by telling her you hadn’t filled me in, chapter and verse.’ Or to admit she’d slept her way through important discourse. No, attack was the best means of defence. ‘Secondly, if I know what makes you tick, then I can work out if I can trust you—and I’m talking about trusting you with my life, Craig, because that’s what playing big-time involves.’ Rod would have raised lovely, darling elegant eyebrows heavenwards at the rash of clichés.

  Craig didn’t. ‘Why does Earnshaw want to keep me off the Sophisticasun contract if it isn’t something you’ve said?’

  ‘Because it doesn’t fit, I suppose, with the scenario of us being at each other’s throats. You’d hardly want to come and work at my place if you were playing away from home.’ He jabbed the air. ‘But I’ve got this idea for getting in…’

  ‘Get this into your head, Craig: I am in. Five days a week: Maybe, if I think it’s safe, at weekends. Under the steady gaze of a surveillance camera, remember.’

  ‘If you think it’s safe!’ He rolled his eyes.

  She must keep calm. ‘I’ve already been to two other Sophisticasun sites as a potential buyer; don’t forget: it’d look a bit weird if one of the sales staff who work at weekends recognised me In fact, I’d say it’d blow the whole operation.’ She sipped at her glass, then drained it. Not the quality Rod would consider worth savouring. A bit thin.

  ‘Fucking hell, why didn’t you tell them that before?’ Craig jumped up, towering over her. ‘I tell you, you’re just not professional!’

  ‘Sit down and listen. You heard me say it yourself. At the service station. Didn’t you? No, hang on—while you’re on your feet, why not bring in the rest of this?’

  ‘What did your last slave die of?’

  ‘Was I going to cook tea for one or for two? For Christ’s sake, Craig, what is it with you?’

  He slunk off, returning with the bottle, topping up his glass as he walked He parked the bottle by his chair as he sat down She stuck out a hand for it. She wasn’t going to kneel to him, no way. After a moment’s hesitation, he grasped the neck and swung it so she could just reach, if she stretched. Her hand remained where it was. If the battle of Chenin Blanc were in progress, she would win.

  He swung the bottle again. It was a good job it was half-empty. Still it came short of her hand. At last, sighing hugely, he inched his haunches far enough forward for the next swing just to reach her. She could chalk up victory in that skirmish: now she had to win the battle and eventually the war.

  She would start off with what seemed a concession. ‘They’ve obviously kept you in the dark too—about how I got involved. I won’—she hooked her fingers into quotation marks ‘a holiday with Sophisticasun, and my boss told me to go along with what was obviously some ploy to make me buy something. So I turned up first at their complex near Oxford and again at one near Hythe. All this was part of some investigation Sue—that’s my boss—knew about. When I put in my report, Earnshaw was on to it before you could say knife and had “invited” me down here.’

  ‘Why you?’

  She shrugged. ‘They wanted someone from a different area. I got a conviction last time I was undercover. They haven’t sorted out my first posting as inspector. I’d been to two sites. QED.’

  ‘QED? What? Is that Greek or something? Us country bumpkins don’t know Greek.’

  ‘How’s your maths?’ she shot at him.

/>   He frowned. ‘I got my GCSE.’

  ‘Including geometry? All that stuff about working out angles and stuff? In that case you know as well as I do what QED means. “This is what was to be proved.” So she couldn’t hear Rod’s voice pronouncing the Latin, she topped up her glass. ‘Do you want to finish this off?’ She leaned forward so he could take the bottle.

  He pulled a face. ‘It isn’t very—’

  ‘You’re right—it’s a bit thin.’ Her face matched his. ‘Trying to keep in role, see—buying cheap stuff.’

  He managed a snort, which might have been reluctant laughter.

  ‘So that’s why I’m here,’ she concluded. ‘What about you?’

  Chapter 10

  So why was Craig on his feet, looking at his watch and peering round the net curtains at the road?

  ‘What’s up?’ Kate scrambled to join him.

  He dropped the curtain. ‘Jumpy, aren’t you? What are you expecting?’

  ‘Not so much what, as who.’ Except she knew she was being illogical: she’d done nothing yet to arouse anyone’s suspicions.

  ‘Lover Boy from Brum?’ he jeered.

  Hell, she’d asked for that. ‘Clever, clever. When it was you who was looking out? Did you hear something?’

  He put his hands on his hips and turned slowly. ‘Do I need to hear something to have a gander out of the window? I don’t think so. Silly bitch: if you’re as skittish as this, you shouldn’t be in the team. Fucking hell, you don’t even know what’s worrying you, but you’re sweating cobblers.’

  She was, but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing her admit it or give so much as a nervous, apologetic giggle. ‘So why,’ she asked, picking up the glasses and the bottle, ‘this sudden interest in the street? Or our neighbours, or whatever? Or did you have a sudden attack of aesthetic distress because the curtain was hanging badly?’