Chameleon's Shadow

accidental discharge.’ Avoiding the metal catch, she caught the edge of the flap between the grab-stick claws and flipped it open to expose the contents. ‘It’s definitely a stun gun,’ she confirmed. ‘This one’s called a Small Fry and packs a million volts. The red light means it’s primed and ready to go.’ She leaned away to allow Beale to look over her shoulder.

‘How do you turn it off?’

‘There should be a switch at the side – but it’ll be safer if I empty everything on to the sheeting. I don’t fancy sticking my hand in and hoping for the best . . . even to amuse Ms Morley.’

She grasped the edge of the sheeting and gave it a flick, tumbling the bag towards Jen. As the stun gun fell out, a deafening, high-pitched electrical siren screamed into the night air. The woman grinned as Jen jumped backwards. ‘Most guys with any sense do a runner the minute they hear the siren,’ she said, stretching forward to flick the switch. ‘The ones who don’t end up on the floor for ten minutes.’

Using her grab-stick, she caught the bottom of the leather bag and upended the rest of the contents over the sheeting. From among the detritus, she isolated an empty biro tube and a small gilt compact. ‘No imagination,’ she said, popping the catch and showing Beale the white powder inside. ‘Nine times out of ten, women disguise their stash as cosmetics.’

She stood up and beckoned Jen forwards. ‘Legs apart and arms out to the side, please. When I’m satisfied that you have nothing else in your clothing, you will be taken to a police station, where you may be asked to undergo a more intimate search.’

For a moment, Jen looked as if she was about to comply with the woman’s brisk, no-nonsense manner, then she abruptly raised an open hand to slap her. This time the WPC’s smile was dismissive as she easily caught the swinging hand and twisted it behind the girl’s back. ‘I told you you should have chosen one of the men,’ she murmured, grabbing Jen’s other hand and snapping on a pair of handcuffs. ‘They might just have been fool enough to take that.’

*

Acland was awake the second time Jackson went to check on him. He was sitting cross-legged in the corner of the bed, his back resting against the wall, and he nodded as she appeared in the open doorway of the cell. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said simply. ‘What for?’ ‘Everything . . . the damage to your car . . . the duffel bag . . . involving you again. It wasn’t fair on you or your patients.’ Jackson leaned her shoulder against the jamb and folded her arms. ‘Then why did you do it? I don’t even have a car at the moment. It’s been towed to a lab for forensic examination.’ ‘Sorry.’ He made a move to stand up. ‘Would you like to sit down?’ ‘No, thanks . . . and don’t keep saying sorry. It’s the most infuriating word in the English language. Just a cheap way to behave badly, then shelve responsibility by putting the onus on the other person to be forgiving.’ He knew her well enough by now to know that her bark was worse than her bite. ‘It wasn’t deliberate,’ he said. ‘I got stuck with the damn bag and I didn’t know what to do with it.’ ‘Why didn’t you hand it in to the nearest police station? That’s what a normal person would have done.’

‘A normal person wouldn’t have gone looking for it in the first place.’ A glint of self-deprecating humour appeared in his good eye. ‘And neither would I if I’d known what was in it.’

‘What did you think was in it?’

He shrugged. ‘More of Ben’s possessions. It annoyed me that he denied knowing anything about it.’ He put his head back to stare at the ceiling. ‘Chalky couldn’t get rid of it fast enough. I should have suspected something at that point.’

‘You’d still have taken it,’ said Jackson. ‘You’d have been too curious not to.’

Acland acknowledged the point with a nod. ‘I wouldn’t have paid for it, though.’

‘How much?’

‘Fifty quid.’

She gave an abrupt laugh. ‘You shouldn’t be allowed out alone. Chalky says you got it in exchange for a cheap bottle of vodka. How come the dykes let you back in?’

‘I didn’t try. I waited at the end of the terrace until Chalky came out. It didn’t take long. He said he hadn’t had a drink in twelve hours.’

‘How did you know he was in there?’

‘While we were there I heard a man hawking phlegm up in the room across the corridor. I didn’t know for a fact it was Chalky but it seemed worth a try.’ He held her gaze for a moment. ‘Thanks for telling the police he was there.’

‘You could have done it yourself. You had the perfect opportunity when the superintendent spoke to you outside the Crown.’

‘I gave Chalky my word I wouldn’t.’

Jackson’s smile was cynical. ‘That’s Pontius Pilate stuff, Charles. How long were you planning to sit on the bag before you chose a side?’

‘That’s not what I was doing. I was trying to work out—’ He broke off on a sigh. ‘Chalky said the bag belonged to Ben. Is that what he’s told the police?’

‘In a manner of speaking. His view seems to be that as Ben brought the bag into the alleyway, it must be his . . . on the basis of possession being nine-tenths of the law.’ She saw the doubt in Acland’s face. ‘The police aren’t convinced.’

‘I wouldn’t expect them to be.’

‘Then I suggest you come up with some credible answers about how you knew the bag existed. From what I remember, you told the superintendent you only thought it did.’

*

Apart from a glass crack pipe on a coffee table in the open-plan sitting room with a kitchen at one end, it wasn’t immediately obvious why Jen had been so reluctant to allow the police into her flat. If she’d entered first and palmed the pipe, Beale doubted that he or his detectives would have noticed. The room was in some disorder, with various outfits slung across the back of a sofa and different pairs of shoes littering the floor. ‘Looks as if she couldn’t