Stacey couldnt have been more different. Even her dress style was at odds with Paulas casual T-shirt and jeans. Staceys suit fitted as if it had been made to measure, and the fine polo-neck sweater beneath it looked like cashmere to Carols eye. A surprisingly expensive outfit for a detective constable, she thought. When it came to work, it was almost as if Stacey resented the presence of paper. Shed balanced the file she was studying on a pulled-out desk drawer to leave her work surface clear for interaction with the machine. The twin screens of her computer system held most of her attention. She would swiftly scrutinize the file material, then her fingers would fly over the keys before she cocked her head to one side, ran her left hand through her glossy black hair and clicked a mouse button. Manipulable virtuality was seemingly what she craved over reality.
It was, Carol thought, a group with enough variety in their skills and attributes to cover most of the bases. The key question was whether she could get them to bond into a unit. Until they felt part of a team, they would be less than the sum of their parts. She sighed. Somewhere in her near future, she could see a night out with her officers. On balance, shed rather have spent a day in the dentists chair without benefit of anaesthetic. She hadnt been out on the town since shed come back from Germany. Even going to familiar restaurants with friends had been beyond her. The idea of raucous, crowded pubs and clubs curdled her stomach. Get over it, she muttered angrily to herself as she turned back to the Tim Golding file.
She reread the statement given by the organic vegetable deliveryman. My, how Harriestown had changed in the few years shed been gone. The previous occupants of the area would have been interested in organic vegetables only as potential missiles. So engrossed was she that the sharp rap of knuckles on her door jamb made her start. The pages she was holding fluttered to the desk unheeded as Carol pushed back in her chair, heart thudding, eyes wide. This was new, she thought. The old Carol Jordan was a lot harder to startle.
Sorry, I didnt mean to creep up on you. The woman in the doorway looked more amused than apologetic.
It was Carols habit to form descriptions of new encounters as if she were registering their details for the National Criminal Intelligence database. Medium height; wiry as Carol herself. Straight shoulders, full breasts, narrow hips. Wavy brown hair cut in a tousle that had been fashionable a few years before, but which shed probably hung on to because it suited her incongruously cherubic face. The cast of her features made her look as if she was perpetually on the verge of a smile. Only the eyes gave her away; she had the long flat stare of the cop whod grown weary of the variety of human viciousness and misery. She wore black jeans, a black silk T-shirt and a leather jacket the colour of crème caramel. Whoever she was, Carol was certain shed never met her before. I was miles away, she said, getting to her feet.
And who wouldnt be, given half a chance. The womans eyes crinkled in an easy smile as she moved forward, extending a hand. Detective Sergeant Jan Shields. I work Temple Fields.
DCI Jordan, Carol said, accepting the warm, dry handshake. She gave a wry smile. Youre the Vice, then?
Jan groaned. Oh please. One bloody TV series and were back with a label from the bad old, sad old days. Yeah, Im the Vice. Thatd be why we get the scuzzy office and you get the management suite. How are you settling in?
Carol shrugged, slightly uncomfortable with the assumption of camaraderie from an officer junior in rank though probably roughly equal in years. Were feeling our way. So, Sergeant Shields, is this a social call? Or is there something I can help you with?
I think it might be me that can help you. Jan waved a slim manila folder, this smile a tease.
Carol raised her eyebrows, moving back behind her desk. Really?
Your teams working cold cases till you hit a fresh jackpot, right?
Were taking a look, yes.
And one of those cases would be Tim Golding?
Youre well informed, Sergeant.
Jan shrugged. You know how it is. Gossip travels faster than a speeding bullet.
And were todays hot news. Carol sat down. She wanted to give the impression of confidence. So what is it you have for me?
Its a bit of a long story. Jan gestured to the chair opposite Carol. May I? She sat down and crossed her legs with easy confidence.
Carol leaned forward. Lets have it, then.
When you were here before, I was on secondment to a Home Office team working with the FBI on a long-term investigation into paedophiles using the internet. Youve probably heard of Operation Ore?
Carol nodded. The news media had leapt on Operation Ore with the avidity of a starving coyote in a meat-processing factory. The investigation had netted thousands of potential arrestees on both sides of the Atlantic: men who surfed the net and used their credit cards to buy access to sites where they could download child pornography. But the sheer scale of the results had made Operation Ore a victim of its own success. Overstretched law enforcement agencies looked at the mountain of evidence and threw their hands up in despair. Carol had heard one colleague estimate that with the officers at his disposal it would take nine and a half years simply to interview all the names from his patch, never mind to seize and analyse their hard drives. You were involved in that?
In the early stages, yes. Ive been back here two years now, and most of what Ive been doing since then has been prioritizing our hit list, in between the usual shit on the streets. In the last six months, weve started pulling in our prime candidates. What we do is kick their doors down and seize their computer equipment. After a preliminary interview we usually release them on police bail till the analysis is done.
Which can take weeks, I imagine?
Jans mouth twisted in a half-smile. If were lucky. Anyway, I got a stack of stuff through yesterday from the techies. Theyd stripped out a pretty rich seam from a guy we pulled in a couple of months ago. She shook her head. Youd think Id be used to this by now. The guys a senior NHS manager. You need a hip replacement or a new knee at Bradfield Cross? Hes the one you blame for the length of the waiting list. Respectable house in the suburbs, wifes a teacher, two teenage kids. And his computers like a fucking sewer. So, Im wading through his shit and I find this She flipped open her file dramatically and pulled out a print of a digital photograph, blown up to cover most of an A4 sheet. She passed it across to Carol. I recognized the kid from the media blitz.
Carol studied the photograph. The background showed a dramatic rock formation. Slender birch branches crisscrossed one corner. A skinny child stood naked and hunched in the middle of the frame. Sandy hair, Harry Potter glasses. Features shed memorized in the course of her long days reading. There was no room for doubt: this was Tim Golding. She felt the familiar rush that came with a fresh lead and hated herself for it. This wasnt something to rejoice over. Carol understood that now better than she ever had before. Are there any more? she asked.
Jan shook her head. Ive been right through the archive. Nothing.
What about the other missing kidGuy Lefevre?
Sorry. Thats the only one. And it doesnt mean my guy is the one youre looking for. These sick bastards swap shots all the time. The fact that theres only the one pic of the Golding boy would suggest to me that my target wasnt the photographer.
Jan shook her head. Ive been right through the archive. Nothing.
What about the other missing kidGuy Lefevre?
Sorry. Thats the only one. And it doesnt mean my guy is the one youre looking for. These sick bastards swap shots all the time. The fact that theres only the one pic of the Golding boy would suggest to me that my target wasnt the photographer.
Im inclined to agree with you. But I want to talk to him nevertheless. Carol met Jans eyes in a long, measured stare. Id like his file now and Id like him in an interview room first thing in the morning. Do you want me to clear that with your senior officer?
Sorted already. My guvnor agrees you get first crack. Full house beats a flush.
Thanks, Sergeant. I appreciate it. Carol slid the print back towards Jan. This backgroundany idea where it might be? She pointed to the unusual rock formation.
Jan shook her head. Not a clue. Im a city girl, me. I get the shakes if Im more than five miles from Starbucks.
It looks pretty distinctive to me. But for all I know, there could be rocks like this from Lands End to John oGroats.
Yeah. But theres only one Tim Golding.
Carol sighed. Wrong tense, I think.
Sorry?
Looking at this, I think we should be saying there was only one Tim Golding.
His hands are sweating. They slither and slip in spite of the thin layer of talc inside the latex gloves. It makes the preparation difficult. Hes not really used to anything that requires finer control than rolling a joint. When his fingers fumble and a blade nicks him through the glove, he swears out loud at the beads of blood that ooze from the wound.
Hes glad the Voice isnt here to see him fucking up. And that reminds him that he has instructions about what to do if his blood gets on the stuff. Put anything stained with even the smallest drop of blood to one side. Replace it and start again. Only one blood, thats what we want. Only one blood. The words echo in his head and he does what hes told. He pulls a page out of that evenings paper and places the bloody blade on it. Then he strips off the gloves and adds them to the pile. He doesnt have an Elastoplast, so he tears off a corner of the newsprint and sticks it clumsily over the place where the blood is seeping. Then he takes another pair of gloves from the box. And starts again.
He really wants to get it right. He knows that if he gets it right, this will be the best thing hes ever done. He knows because thats what the Voice told him. And everything else the Voice has said has been right.
All day, hes been thinking about whats to come. All day, his minds been in a spin. Though he tried to keep it hidden, people noticed. But they dont expect much of him at the best of times, so they didnt notice in a way that theyll remember afterwards. Mostly, they just made a joke of it, although one or two used his slowness or stupidity as an excuse for giving him a bad time. But hes used to that too. Until the Voice came along and said he deserved better, that was how it was for him. The tree every dog pissed up. The one who was so crap everybody else looked good next to him.
Tonight, hes going to prove them wrong. Tonight hes going to do something none of them would dare. And hes going to do it right.
Isnt he?
The car park was a place of shadows, hemmed in by high brick walls topped with razor wire. When it had been built, nobody could have anticipated the explosion in car ownership, so it was always over-full, double-parked and a source of irritation to those who had to use it.
It was also supposed to be secure. A sturdy metal barrier had to be raised to permit entry or egress, and the officer in charge of it was supposed to monitor each entrant carefully. But the man leaning on one of the cars understood how to circumvent systems. When hed been here before, hed made allies of the security team, aware that there would probably be a time when hed want to come back without the necessary authority.
That time was tonight. Hed been waiting for the best part of an hour, resting against the bonnet of the silver saloon, reading steadily through the papers hed stuffed into his briefcase, his peripheral vision alert to anyone leaving the tall building in front of the car park. But the light was fading fast and the air held the crisp promise of winter. Waiting was becoming less attractive. He glanced at his watch. Just after six. Hed give it half an hour, then hed slip away into the night. He didnt want to lurk in the darkness, for a variety of reasons.
A few minutes later, he saw what hed been waiting for. A gleam of blonde hair caught in the security lights by the back door, and he was on the move. He shoved the file back into his briefcase and stood upright, moving towards the back of the car to cut off his target before she could reach the drivers door.
She looked over her shoulder, calling out a farewell to a colleague. When she turned back, he was only a few feet from her. Shock and astonishment shot across her face and she stopped dead. Her mouth formed an exclamation, but no sound emerged.
Hi, Carol, Tony said. Fancy a curry?
Jesus, she exhaled, her shoulders dropping. You nearly gave me a heart attack. What the hell are you doing here?
He spread his arms wide, a parody of innocence. Like I said, inviting you out for a curry.
Freaking me out, more like. What are you doing in Bradfield? Youre supposed to be in St Andrews. He raised one finger in admonishment. Later. Now, are you going to unlock the car? Im freezing.
With an air of bemusement, Carol obediently popped the locks and watched him walk round to the passenger seat. She couldnt help smiling. There was, she thought, nobody quite like Tony Hill.
Twenty minutes later, theyd found a relatively quiet corner table in a cheap and cheerful Bangladeshi café on the fringes of Temple Fields, the area of the city centre where the gay village sat uneasily alongside the red-light district. Their fellow customers were a mixture of students and individuals poised to go looking for love in all the wrong places. Carol and Tony had discovered the café when theyd first worked together on a case centred on Temple Fields, and it seemed the obvious place for this reunion.
I cant believe youre here, Carol said as the waiter departed to bring them a couple of bottles of Kingfisher.
He held out his arm. Go on, pinch me. Im real.
She leaned forward and gave his shoulder a gentle punch. OK, youre real. But why are you here?
I jacked the job in. I was a fish out of water there, Carol. I needed to get back to the work I know Im good at. Id already got an offer of consultancy work over in Europe. And when John Brandon told me you were coming back to Bradfield, I got on to Bradfield Moor and asked for part-time clinical work. He grinned. So here I am.
You came back to Bradfield because of me? Carols expression was guarded. I dont want your pity, Tony.
Its nothing to do with pity. Youre the best friend Ive got. I have some idea of how hard this is for you, Carol. And I want to be around if you need me.
Carol waited for the waiter to deposit their beers, then said, I can manage, you know. Ive been a cop for a long time. Im capable of catching villains without your help.